


The World Between Worlds

by N_B



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Plot, Slow-ish burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-08 14:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5500508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N_B/pseuds/N_B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU  No supernatural.<br/>What if Abbie and Crane still had to work together to take down Moloch?</p><p>Abbie's POV throughout</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the most plot-driven and ambitious fic I've ever written so all feedback is welcome. Some situations and dialogue will definitely look familiar. Hope you enjoy!

Lieutenant Abigail Mills rubbed her tired eyes, absently smoothing down the loose stray hairs of her bun only for them to spring up again. She grimaced on finding dregs left over from the cup of coffee she’d poured half-hour ago, when Captain Irving strode into the bullpen. “Mills.” He jerked his head, indicating she should follow him.

 

Anticipation rose; some lead must have just come in. Irving locked the door to his office and sat on the desk instead of behind it. She steeled herself; this definitely wasn’t a normal briefing. 

 

He handed her a file and watched silently as she perused it. She glanced up, confused, “I don’t understand, Captain. I’ve seen this already.”

 

“Not everything. Skip to the end.”

 

The file was not for the squeamish. As many times as she’d seen the bodies and decapitated heads frozen in expressions of horror, it would never compare to the agony of getting the call that confirmed Corbin had been killed on a routine patrol. Eight months and four murders of the serial killer the press had dubbed the Headless Horseman was wearing on everybody’s nerves. The killings were apparently random, with no specific timeframe between them. At the scene of every murder there was a calling card – a picture of a headless horseman. 

 

Corbin’s was the third. 

 

She could never just bypass the grim details, convinced that looking over the material would lead to some new clue. As usual when she got to his pictures, she angled her gaze somewhere just above the body where the head wasn’t visible. She refused to have that image of him as her last, and made it a point to place his photograph on her desk, on her nightstand, heck even as her cellphone wallpaper. She owed him so much more, but that would have to do until she caught his killer.

 

Quickly scanning the last few pages, she realised something was off. This person was very much in possession of his head...and alive? “He claims to have information on the Horseman. The Feds only just managed to share this with us.”  Captain Irving was known for his trademark no-nonsense manner, but even he couldn’t help but roll his eyes when it came to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Because of the national attention given to a serial killer on the loose, the FBI had swept into Sleepy Hollow riding hard on law enforcement.  They shared whatever they felt local police needed to know, which wasn’t much. Abbie couldn’t help shake her head at the irony. Her FBI dream was literally at the door, but the price she’d paid to be exposed to it was too high. Corbin damn well deserved better, and she was going to bring his killer to justice, she didn’t care how many FBI agents got in the way.

 

“So if this guy has all the answers, what do the Feds want with us?”

 

“Because they can’t get him to talk,” Irving couldn’t help the grim smirk. “And they want the best profiler this side of Westchester to work her magic.”

 

Corbin had loved to talk up her skills with his FBI buddies. For a moment, the pride and wistfulness flared bright and undeniable, but she smothered them. This wasn’t the time to be thinking of impressing as a candidate for Quantico. Really there was only one thing she could do in this situation. “Where is he?”

 

Five minutes later she was being escorted to the station’s holding cells. Apparently the Feds had already considered her permission as a given and had transported their “prisoner” there. She mentally reviewed the scant details of his file: Ichabod Crane, 33, born in Bedfordshire, England. Briefly married to Katrina (née van Tassel) before her death by car accident in 2012. No children. He ran an international business providing undisclosed consultancy services. Under house arrest for unspecified charges. The bare-boned data suggested something more was going on behind the scenes with this guy. She opened the door and went inside, knowing the gaggle of FBI agents were on hand in the outer room to capture significant details.

 

As she approached the table, she couldn’t help thinking the photo didn’t do him enough justice. It properly captured the regal and aristocratic profile, yes, but not the sexiness. Not sexy, she thought, striking. 

 

"And which interrogator are you?" 

 

“Mr. Crane, I’m Lieutenant Abigail Mills off the Westchester County Police Department.” His eyebrows rose at that. “I’m here to interview you about information you have relating to this case.”

 

He assessed her in silence for a few moments; she kept her gaze neutral and trained on him, slowing her breathing to remain calm.

 

“At least they sent someone more pleasing to look at this time.” Now it was her turn to raise her eyebrows. As if that bullshit flattery would work on her. Make-up free, tired and tense after another long day researching this case, she knew she wasn’t winning any beauty prizes soon.

 

“Be that as it may, Mr. Crane, let’s see how we can help each other. You want to get your freedom back; we want information on this case. Everybody wins if you play nice.” She spread her hands indicating the ball was in his court.

 

“I want ‘out’ of this house arrest, Lieutenant, but not until my conditions are met.” Okay, she was familiar with this – negotiation time. A little something for something. The trick was to appear interested but not too eager for whatever it was. He drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the table. “Are you familiar with ‘Purgatory’, Ms. Mills?”

 

“I’m a lapsed Catholic and not too caught up on poetry, Mr. Crane.” 

 

He ignored her facetious comment. “You may have heard of the owner, a man by the name of Moloch.”

 

At that her eyes widened involuntarily and her fatigue disappeared. A year ago, Moloch – a nickname or code name, they’d never been able to tell – had created a club called Purgatory. Word on the street was that it was a place to receive purification of all sins. Problem was purity was achieved through party favours of the not-so legal kind: hardcore drugs like PCP and Ecstasy. When she’d heard that, she couldn’t help the wave of shame remembering some of her old habits during her fucked up years (misspent youth, was Corbin’s more diplomatic handle). The other troubling factor was that they could never find its location. Besides the rumours, the first real tip-off police had was from the public who called concerned when their loved ones returned home strung out, unable to remember where they had been, and requiring emergency trips to the hospital. The one person who had managed to speak before succumbing to a coma left a vague word: “Moloch.” There had been no deaths so far, thank God, but there had been a lot of uneasiness within the department at being steps behind this Moloch. 

 

She made sure he could hear the slight scorn in her voice. “So what, you and Moloch are best buddies now?” 

 

He leaned in, sharp profile and tightened lips indicating he was a little annoyed. Good. It would keep him talking a bit more. Maybe he would slip and reveal something...

 

“He’s holding my wife captive.”

 

...important. Wait, what?

 

“Or rather, her ashes, in an urn.” He was trying to be controlled, but Abbie could see the tense jaw and ice-chipped, blue eyes. This man was more than annoyed; he was burning with rage.

 

She blinked at that, processing the news. “Why would a man running a drug ring want your wife’s ashes, Mr. Crane?”

 

“That is irrelevant. This ‘Headless Horseman’ is in Moloch’s service. You want to capture him and I must rescue my wife’s remains. I know when the next Purgatory party will be held, Ms. Mills. Perhaps now you can see how we can help each other.”

 

She nodded slowly, regarding him carefully. There were a lot of missing pieces that didn’t add up, though. “What does the FBI have on you?” He parried those eyebrows at her again, and she sensed he was acknowledging she was right, they did have something holding over him. He didn’t answer, but then again he didn’t have to. 

 

“So say I believe you. How do you suggest we get into Purgatory?” At that he smiled, a grim, predatory thing that should look out of place on him, but sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

 

“It’s simple, Ms. Mills. You and I must find the key.”


	2. Chapter 2

The senior FBI agent, Agent Frater, wasn’t that keen on the idea of releasing Crane, but reluctantly ceded after Crane pointed out that the next date was soon approaching, July 16, a month from now. Frater, an older man with a craggy, hardworn face, had actioned Crane’s release on condition that Abbie partner up with him, which exempted her from regular cop duty. How Crane knew anything about Moloch or Purgatory or what exactly the Feds had on him was never explained, despite her best efforts in trying to find out.

 

They were using the old Armory as a base of operations and had recorded all of what they knew of Moloch and Purgatory. Right now that meant staring at a board with the details of known persons who’d escaped Purgatory to see if they could glean any clues.  It was frustrating as hell for Abbie, as she rubbed the back of her neck to relieve the tension there. There seemed to be no order to Purgatory’s sessions; in the year since they’d first heard about the club, there’d been one time when it was held twice in a month; then another time, three months later. Crane and Abbie had been working together for a week, going over all the information, with nothing to show for it. 

 

Crane strode in with Chinese takeout, setting hers on the desk. Working with him was something. He was brilliant, made intuitive leaps of logic and kept up with her in a way she’d never experienced before. He was also impulsive, arrogant and seemed to believe he was incapable of being wrong. 

 

“Nothing yet?” He came next to her, standing too close. Again. She stubbornly focused on the board.

 

“Nothing, zip, nada.”  She paced to and fro, when a thought hit her. “Crane, why Purgatory?”

 

“I beg your pardon?” 

 

“Why name a club Purgatory? Why not Heaven or Hell or Starlight, Starbright?”

 

He rubbed his beard and moustache thoughtfully, fingers drawing Abbie’s attention until she focused again when he started to speak. “Purgatory is the middle ground between the two worlds, serving as a place to absolve sins after death before a soul can move on to heaven. It is precisely neither totally good, nor totally bad.” 

 

He held up one finger and she recognised he had something. “Ms. Mills, the people who have been hospitalised after attending these parties, have they run afoul of the law before? Or are they considered upstanding citizens?”

 

Her eyes widened as she followed his train of thought. “It isn’t the known drug addicts attending these parties. It’s everybody else.” 

 

She dashed off to her desk, remembering something. He followed closely behind, the edge of his coat brushing her bare arm as she sat. She fought off the awareness and quickly ran through a printed list of names of those currently hospitalised at Sleepy Hollow General. “Look.” She turned to find him leaning over her, and pointed to a name. “Melanie Stickler, 21, an assistant librarian at Sleepy Hollow Library. She was described by friends and family as shy and reserved, yet she chose to go to a party with drugs? What if...?”

 

“They’re camouflaging the intent of Purgatory, somehow convincing innocent persons to be present?” He finished the thought, staring down intently at her. “Lieutenant, I do believe we have a break.”

 

As he beamed at her, his first real smile since they’ve been paired up, she couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling of satisfaction flooding her. “Come on, Crane, let’s hit the streets.”

 

*********************************

 

They started first with Melanie Stickler’s father who confirmed the family had never heard of this Purgatory and was shocked to hear their daughter had overdosed. “Melanie was never the type of girl to do drugs,” her dad said in anguish. The last place she’d been that anyone could remember was the library.

 

It was the same for the others on the list; they had not changed routine in any way and had last been seen doing apparently ordinary things.

 

“So what are we missing, Crane?” Abbie mused, after nibbling on some fries from the diner opposite the Armory. She could feel it, that nagging sensation she often got on cases when there was more to the surface. She slurped on her smoothie, bringing a haughty look of disgust from Crane, and didn’t even try restraining her smirk. She waved the free mints to him in offer, but he turned her down with an offended shake of the head. _Oh, he was too easy to rile up,_ she thought.

 

 

He stood, and Abbie couldn’t help the look at his (pretty impressive looking) junk. It was a source of constant attention from the women on the force, who were all but salivating over him and shooting looks of envy her way. “We need to find the way...”

 

She rolled her eyes. “No shit, Sherlock.”

 

He frowned at her interruption, arching his voice in that manner of his that suggested he was going to be pissy about something, “As I was saying, we need to find the way to Purgatory by looking back at the past.  Have the police checked the areas further than a mile from the Horseman’s killings?”

 

She was a little stunned, annoyed the possibility hadn’t occurred to her. “You think we’ll turn up evidence since the Horseman is working for Moloch.”

 

He looked smugly at her, one eyebrow raised. “Indeed, Ms. Mills. When we plot the spaces between the Horseman's killings on the map, then we can narrow down the areas to search."

 

************************

It was on their second outing that they discovered, quite by accident, their first big break.

 

************************

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

“Lieutenant!” She heard Crane’s cry and hurriedly used hand signals to quiet him down. She glared at him, hoping he would zip it before the man unleashed another barrage of gunfire their  way. His faintly apologetic expression and shoulder shrug said it had slipped out before he could help it. She rolled her eyes. 

 

Of course, Crane had to be right.

 

After spending a fruitless day and a half combing the area between a farm and the highway, they’d headed out early on the second and had yielded unexpected results. This time they’d been in the woods behind the old Frederick’s manor, looking around for anything that could give them a heads up. 

 

“What’s this?” Crane said, bending down to pick up a black card that was face down against the base of a tree. She was about to snark that garbage tended to blow around a bit (especially in large distances like the one they were covering) when he brought it over to her, brushing off minor debris, with an urgent, “Lieutenant, look.”

 

The card had an engraved mantra that Crane read aloud. “‘We the penitent with humble heart, upon this threshold do summon thee. In mirrored form, appear a gateway to the world between worlds’.” Abbie frowned, mulling the words over in her head.

 

“You said that Purgatory is a middle ground of sorts between good and bad, and it’s to cleanse sins,” she said, slowly. “What if to get in, you have to use a password or code?”

 

“And thus admit only those who recite the correct words,” Crane surmised. 

 

“But why go to all this trouble for a drug ring? Something about this just isn’t making any sense, Crane.”

 

Before he could add his thoughts, they heard a vehicle approaching in the distance, from the area of the manor’s driveway. They quickly crouched behind the trees, hoping that the fading light would camouflage them. And since Abbie had parked a mile back, there was no other trace of their presence. 

 

The driver stopped, and proceeded to the old house. This was a pretty lonesome area, and that was a derelict building, Abbie mused, and yet that did not stop the mystery man from pulling out what looked like a key to open a heavy padlocked door. Abbie and Crane exchanged looks. 

 

After about 15 minutes, the unknown man’s business apparently finished, he exited, locked back up and drove off. They waited for five minutes to make sure he was not returning before moving off to peer at the lock. Crane glanced around. “Perhaps if I could find a large enough stone, we could break it.”

 

“No, too risky. He’ll see the smashed lock and know we were here.” She smirked at him. “I’ve got a better idea.” She pulled a black bag from her jacket and crouched in front the door. “Here. Spot me a light.”

 

He pulled out his cellphone and accessed the flashlight app. “How does an officer of the law know an illegal method of breaking and entering?”

 

She glanced back, eyes twinkling. “I’m a woman of many talents, Crane.”

 

His eyebrows curved upwards. “Indeed, Ms. Mills. Imagine the delinquency we could perpetrate if we really put our minds to it.” Abbie told herself she was imagining the flirtiness in his tone. 

 

The lock clicked open, refocusing her thoughts on the house. “Okay, we’re in.” She pulled a pocket flashlight from her jacked. The floorboards of the house were still in good condition, but the rest of it was run down. The wallpaper had faded from whatever colour it had been originally, while the shuttered and boarded windows gave no indication they had been opened for some time. They hesitated at the staircase, then decided to go up, testing each level to ensure it would take their weight. They explored several empty rooms on that floor, but Abbie was slowly realising that all was not what it seemed.

 

“See that?” she motioned to Crane, pointing at the floor. “No footprints means no dust.” She spotted the light in the corners. “No cobwebs. This manor has been abandoned for years. Why is it so clean?”

 

“Has it been earmarked for restoration?” Crane queried, walking into another open room. 

 

“No. And why a huge padlock on such a rundown place anyway? Hardly anyone travels on this road, further more right up the driveway.” Abbie stopped walking and turned to Crane, eyes suddenly wide open. “The perfect place to have a club no one can find,” she said in growing realisation. She whipped out her cellphone and quickly dialled the station, filling in Captain Irving on the situation.

  

Crane looked around, scanning their surroundings thoroughly. “But where, Lieutenant? Unless...”

 

He was interrupted by a slam of the door downstairs. They looked at each other, quickly remembering the lock had been left open, before hearing faint voices. “I thought I told you to lock the door, Benson. I’m tired of you making mistakes.”

 

They quickly shut off their lights, before Abbie motioned to Crane to also silence his phone. She pulled out her gun from the shoulder holster, releasing the safety catch. They crouched behind the door, breathlessly listening to the muffled voices of the two men moving away until there was nothing. 

 

Abbie nudged Crane and pointed downstairs, whispering "Basement." He frowned, nodding his head that it did seem the best location for an underground club. The silence reigned but both of them dared not move. Finally after what seemed like hours but was really 25 minutes later according to her phone, the voices returned, growing stronger as they approached the entrance. “Don’t forget the final preparations.” 

 

Crane motioned with his head at Abbie, indicating they should follow the men. She glared at him. _Was he insane?_ They were basically weaponless apart from Abbie’s gun.

 

He held his watch up; Irving’s team might not arrive on time to stop these men. With that, he calmly unbent himself from their hiding spot and walked furtively towards the stairs.

 

“Dammit Crane!” She hissed. That idiotic fool was to going to get himself killed one of these days from his impulsiveness. She charged up behind him, weapon at the ready.

 

She was walking as quickly as she could behind him when he inadvertently stepped on one of the creaky boards. In the silence, the noise reverberated in the empty space, so that even the men downstairs heard it, as evidenced by footsteps slowing down and remaining stationary. “What was that?” one of them called. Abbie could see Crane hovering indecisively on the top landing. 

 

“It’s an old house, Benson. Let’s go.”

 

“Not so fast. I know I locked that door. Suppose someone’s inside? How do you think Moloch would react to that?”

 

Whatever the other man thought was clearly irrelevant as Benson came further inside the house. She glared at Crane’s back and he quickly and as quietly as possible came back to her side. They could hear the men walking around, the odd footfall sounding ominously in the silence. 

 

She waved furiously at Crane, hoping he understood to call Irving to relay the urgency of the situation.  The sudden creaking on the top landing triggered her instincts. "Crane, get down!" she yelled, before diving blindly into a room just as a barrage of gunfire swept through the area. “Lieutenant!” She waved him down, hoping that Irving would get here soon.

 

Fortunately, it was if her silent prayer was answered, based on sudden shouts from below. She carefully peered around the doorway and saw the two men perched above the staircase. Irving yelled from downstairs, “This is the Westchester County Police. Put down your weapons!” She moved stealthily behind the two, saying firmly, “I would do as he says.”

 

Back at the station, the two had been processed but were proving difficult to crack. Irving sat back stone-faced, hands folded, as Agent Frater tried to persuade Benson first, then his colleague in another room, to make a deal in exchange for information on Purgatory and Moloch. Abbie and Crane looked on in despair. The only leads they had and they were refusing to talk.

 

After Agent Frater came back disappointed, Irving waltzed in. “Watch and learn.”

 

He pulled up a chair next to Benson. “I am forced by law to only charge you with one offence,  for firing at a police officer. You may or may not get bail. May even see a little prison. But here’s what will happen. Somehow a nasty rumour will get started that you copped a deal with the Feds to save yourself a longer sentence.” The man blinked slowly at Irving. “I don’t know how that rumour will spread. What I do know, is that on the streets the only thing worse than a snitch who talks to cops is a snitch who talks to the Feds. How you figure Moloch will feel about that? From what I hear, crime bosses can order hits in jail."

 

He continued into the silence. "I could let you go and you suddenly develop amnesia about where you were for the last three hours, so you can enter into a witness protection programme and live offgrid in Nowheresville. Right about now, if I were you, I would start considering my options.” And Captain Irving walked out, without saying another word.

 

Unsurprisingly, Benson and pal cooperated fully, but had very little to offer on how Purgatory operated or anything related to Moloch.

 

Their job was limited to external security and general cleaning of the manor in the weeks between events. They could provide no actual details about what happened inside Purgatory, other than manning the outer door to ensure the right persons got in. They claimed to be contracted mercenaries who had been only working for Moloch’s partners for three months, but other than bank account transactions and a digitally modified voice on a phone, were not in contact with Moloch’s men. They were staying at a motel and moved to and fro as needed.

 

“I don’t like this,” Irving admitted, rubbing his mouth as he sat in conference with the lead FBI agent, Abbie and Crane. “We don’t know if these guys are legit. They could be feeding us false intel.”

 

“Captain, we can go undercover for the next Purgatory meeting.” She glanced at Crane, who acknowledged his agreement. Her stare, which bounced between Irving and Agent Frater, was hard and uncompromising. “This is the best break we’ve had. If you set up a team on the outside and give us some time, we can finally take down these guys.” 

 

It was hardfought, but in the end Irving and Agent Frater reluctantly agreed. Abbie released a tense breath. They were on the right track; she could feel it. She was finally going to get justice for Corbin and capture the assholes responsible for causing havoc in Sleepy Hollow.


	4. Chapter 4

Two and a half weeks later, they waited patiently in the truck in the woods with Captain Irving and a few other technical personnel in total blackout, watching silently through night vision equipment as 20 odd cars pulled into the driveway of the old Fredericks manor. Teams of Feds and local law enforcement awaited Irving’s commands to storm the building from all sides. That had been a source of much tension with Frater insisting on leading the operations, until Irving had coolly informed him, “My intel, my district, my show.”

 

 

The three exited the truck, walking to an unmarked police vehicle that Abbie would use to drive into Purgatory. Irving ran through the briefing again. “Men are on the perimeter waiting to go in. You go in blind, no surveillance, no communications, no weapons. We have no idea what is going to happen in there, so you get no more than 30 minutes before we join you.”

 

He moved away speak to a technician who called him back to the truck, while Crane and Abbie waited a bit anxiously to get started. Abbie shivered a little, and folded her arms to provide what warmth she could. Given the fact that she was wearing the shortest dress she owned, it was no surprise. The silver, spaghetti-strapped dress hugged her curves perfectly, and when she’d removed her coat in the police truck, Crane had been all eyes, at a rare loss for words. That had felt so good she couldn’t even restrain the grin. He of course was looking unbelievably sexy in a dark blue suit that set off his eyes. And of course the dickprint was on full display. Did the man ever wear briefs? She’d had to glance away quickly after seeing it, especially given that Irving was in the same room as them, but couldn’t stop the deep inhale or licking her lips.  

 

Now waiting on the signal to go, she mentally reviewed their mission. As much as she’d tried to convince Irving and Frater that they were capable of going undetected under the radar, she was nervous. Going in blind, weaponless and outnumbered was asking for trouble, but she was not about the let the best lead they had slip away, not when it meant finally solving Corbin’s murder and the Purgatory cases. It seemed Crane was having similar thoughts for he turned to her, saying urgently, “Ms. Mills, a word before we leave. Stay as close to me as possible, but if anything untoward happens, get out quickly. I’ll provide whatever distraction I can.”

 

She was a fully trained, professional police officer who wasn’t about to faint like some damsel in distress just because she was dealing with bad odds! He must have read the incredulity and anger in her expression, because he said, as serious as she had ever seen him, “I would never forgive myself if you were injured or hurt in any way, Lieutenant.” 

 

He was being sincere, she realised in amazement. “Hey,” she said softly, lightly touching his shoulder. “I’m trained to handle situations like this. I’m not going anywhere Crane, not until we get Moloch.” It was unfamiliar to her, this care and attention for her wellbeing, but damn if it wasn’t heartwarming and tingly at the same time.

 

“You guys finish your heart to heart yet?” Irving’s dry question from behind them had the duo snapping back to attention. Abbie shook her head lightly, trying to refocus on the mission; she noticed Crane staring off into the distance.

 

“Yes sir, everything is fine,” she said firmly. “Standing by for your orders.”

 

They waited in tense beats until Irving’s team confirmed the guard in place at the door was one of their own, head shaven and dressed like Benson did. They got into the unmarked vehicle and drove slowly through the woods onto the road, before eventually reaching Frederick’s manor. After approaching the “guard”, they watched as he knocked on the door – a different door to the one they’d broken into – using three short taps, then five longer ones. 

 

“Speak.” A muffled voice asked through an unidentified amplified system.

 

“We the penitent with humble heart, upon this threshold do summon thee. In mirrored form, appear a gateway to the world between worlds,” they recited faithfully from the card. For a few seconds, nothing else happened. They looked at each other nervously, hoping the ruse had worked. The solid door changed to reveal a perfect reflection of themselves. “Welcome to Purgatory,” a disembodied voice called, before the mirrored door slid open. 

 

Walking through Purgatory was an experience, and that was putting it mildly, Abbie thought. The lighting was dim throughout. They’d been asked to leave all cellphone or communication devices at the entrance and were firmly patted down by two more security personnel, before walking through a metal detector. A silent female guide seemed to float, ghostlike, over to where they were standing and said, “Follow me.” Crane reached out for Abbie’s hand; she didn’t blame him. The otherworldliness of the house made her feel apprehensive, as if they were entering another dimension. Their joined hands felt like the only link to reality. They were guided to a set of stairs that twisted downwards and eventually entered what Abbie assumed was the basement. It was just as dim as upstairs had been and there were not a large number of persons milling around, nor was there music or casual talking. And from what Abbie quickly determined, there were distinct areas for drug taking and others for, well...

 

“They are most enthusiastic,” their female guide said. She was referring to the several couples who were point blank fucking like animals in rooms with doors that were wide open, sometimes three or four persons at a time. “Whoa!” Abbie exclaimed softly, shaking her head with wide eyes. Crane choked in astonished outrage next to her. 

 

After passing a few such rooms, their guide led them to a quieter hallway. “You may choose a room on the left or the right. Please follow the instructions for full purification to occur,” she noted. Abbie and Crane looked at each other in confusion.

 

“What do you mean by ‘instructions’ madam?” Crane ventured cautiously. 

 

“You cannot enter Purgatory with attachments to the outer world. In Purgatory, one must be cleansed of all sins. Following instructions in Lord Moloch’s temple is a way of honouring him as well as signalling your intent to be redeemed. If you do not comply, you will be asked to leave.” Abbie thought the guide appeared drugged herself, by her monotone regurgitation and her generally passive demeanour. 

 

Crane looked as if he was going to argue, but Abbie jumped in, laying a warning arm on him. “Thank you for your help. We can take it from here.” And pushed him inside a room before he could pitch a hissy fit.

 

Inside was cramped but neat. The muted lighting revealed a queen-sized bed, a closet, and an adjoining bathroom. The slow blink of a red light in one of the upper corners confirmed one thing: they had an audience. Shit. This could end up going one of two ways: If they went outside now, likely they would be found and dealt with, maybe even drugged to prevent the revelation of certain details. If not, and they stayed, the whole thing would be caught on camera. Maybe even used as blackmail of some kind. She began to understand how some in the club were persuaded to come back and why it had such an eager, discreet following.

 

She looked meaningfully at Crane. “I know it’s not what we expected, but it’s best we follow through.” She gave a subtle tilt of her head, hoping he would understand there were recording devices around. His eyes widened; he got the message. The fingers at his side began fluttering. Damn, she really didn’t need his discomfort, not now when she was struggling with her own. She walked over and made sure he focused on her before repeating her earlier message, only this time with emphasis. “I’m not going anywhere.” He calmed slightly, nodding once before moving away to look around the room.

 

“She mentioned following instructions. I wonder where they are.”

 

“I’m thinking she means these.” He turned around to find Abbie quickly scanning a printed paper that had been on the bed. 

 

“Well, what does it say?” He asked impatiently.

 

She cleared her throat and read, realising this was about to get a lot more complicated.

 

“‘For purification to occur, the height of passion must be experienced by all parties as a means of cleansing carnal sin. Undress totally, with one partner going first or alternating should you desire. What happens next is up to you’.” She swallowed hard, and refused to look up.

 

“That’s left a lot open to interpretation.” Crane’s voice was deep and dark, and she would not look up no matter how much she wanted to see the face that went with it. Nope, not a good idea. She would keep staring at this damn paper, racking her brain for something, anything, that would get them out of this predicament, and would most definitely ignore the stirrings of panic underneath.

 

She headed to the door, preparing to ease it open, but found it locked. Double damn. They had no way of communicating with Irving, and he wouldn’t be here just yet. They had to stall – and fast. 

 

“We don’t have much choice, do we? We have to fit in.” She turned back to find Crane’s apprehensive gaze. He was right, she knew he was right, especially knowing there were people who were going to be very suspicious very soon if nothing happened, and likely to eject them in some way.

 

“Maybe I should go first,” he said hesitantly. At her taken aback look, he stuttered quickly, “No, I meant to be undressed.” 

 

Thing was neither way was a good idea. Sigh. Better get this over with.

 

“Why don’t we take turns? Take off just the outside stuff and see what happens from there. I’ll go first.” she suggested. He nodded, a little jerkily, and approached her slowly. _Keep it impersonal, Mills. It’s part of the job, just like searching through garbage for clues, or fighting off perps._

 

She stared resolutely over his shoulder. He hesitated, slowly unhooking her earrings. This close she could feel the body heat, and despite her willingness to depersonalise the situation, felt her heart speed up. He moved behind her and unhooked the heavy necklace she’d worn, resting it briefly on her chest before removing it. As he did, his fingertips made brief contact with her bare neck and shoulders. His body heat, which she could easily shrug off when they were in the Armory, was inescapable. It enveloped her completely, given his height, and like many times before found herself wondering how it would feel just to lean against him. She swallowed silently. He paused before gently pulling out the dozen or so hairpins used to keep in her bun, causing her hair to cascade messily down her neck and shoulders. He had to wiggle his fingers a bit to pull out the clips and the sensation of those long digits in her scalp, a fairly sensitive place for her, caused her breathing to get shallower. He had to have heard her by now. Their room was quiet, only the hum of the air condition unit punctuating the stillness. 

 

He stood behind her, patient and unyielding, and unzipped her dress to the halfway mark, silently prompting her to lift unusually awkward limbs out of the straps. Sliding her arms out and feeling the slight friction from the dress caused her nipples to tighten and breasts to swell. Shit. He made to pull the zip down further, explaining gruffly, “I will go no further after this.” But then she remembered a Very Important Thing. Shit. She scrunched her eyes and explained around suddenly dry lips, “I...uh...couldn’t...This dress was a little close fitting so...uh...I’m not actually wearing much.” It was actually a thong, a bright red thong to match the strapless bra that had seemed a good idea at the time.

 

He immediately went rigid, hand still at the base of her dress just above her hips on a zipper that suddenly felt heavier than it was. “You mean to say, you’re not wearing any underpants?” His voice was too scratchy, too deep and almost filled with pain. She shivered lightly, eyes still closed, trying to regain her composure. 

 

“No, I’m not.”

 

They must have made an odd display, frozen in place like living statues. She wanted him to push the dress up from the bottom, further and further up, until he could caress the cheeks of her ass with those long fingers of his, eventually slipping them further into… _Stop it!_ She thought desperately. _Get it together for fuck’s sake!_ She heard him clear his throat, and eventually removed his hand from the zip before stepping around to face her. “I’ll just…” He gestured towards her shoes. He was going to remove her stilettos.  Trouble was that on kneeling down, his head was dead level with her pussy. _Dear God in Heaven._

 

He knelt before her still fumbling with straps, clearly too distracted to do it well. He leaned forward slightly, inhaling her arousal with flared nostrils and almost roughly tugged at her shoes, blindly gripping her ankle tighter than warranted. Unfortunately, it was absolutely amazing, and her head involuntarily dropped back, savouring the sensation of his digits digging into her skin. She was wet, soaking wet, and it was impossible not to feel the heat gathering around swollen lips, begging for relief of some kind. She wanted those fingers sliding up her calves, fluttering around her thighs. She wanted to feel them impatiently wrench the thong aside to finally, gratefully, touch dark heavy lips, and slip inside her wetness so she could ride them as rough or gentle as she wanted.

 

“Sit on the bed,” he rumbled. Abbie closed her thighs as best she could, struggling for some kind of self control, but found herself leaning back slightly, weight balanced on hands behind, chest unknowingly arched. He finally unbuckled the strap of her left shoe, and dropped it heedlessly to the ground, the sound muffled by the thick carpet and making little impact in the quiet surrounding them. She was a little embarrassed to hear how out of breath she sounded. He glanced up, helplessly taking in the sight of her. She could only imagine how she appeared: messy hair and half dressed; pussy juice filling the air with her hyper arousal. His eyes darkened so much he looked positively starving, and his muffled growl went straight to the engorged clit that was literally throbbing from need. His fingers were inching ever so closer now, past her knees and pulling her forward bodily to the edge of the bed. 

 

His mouth was open, just so, and she couldn’t resist leaning down, gripping his face with both hands, and sliding her tongue into his mouth, urgently chasing his own, while welcoming his answering bold thrusts as he wrapped his arms around her torso.  Still kissing, he hastily pulled off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, before standing and dragging her close against him while his hands pulled the zip of her dress as down as far down as it could go. Then he helped her wiggle the dress and the thong down while she kicked them impatiently away from her legs.

 

He hoisted her up, and she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, pussy somewhere mid-chest. His hands gripped her ass and she released his mouth, reeling from the sheer pleasure of his heated skin on hers. She rested her forehead on his, hands entwined in his hair, while both of them panted heavily as he adjusted his grip to move the other hand underneath her, his intention clear as his fingers slid closer to her damp heat. He groaned, body trembling slightly. “Ichabod, please,” she whined helplessly, as his fingers gently traced the outer lip lightly, her body primed for him to slide them effortlessly in.

 

It was at that precise moment, however, that all hell broke loose.

 

***************************** 

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Sir, we had no choice. We had to go inside one of the rooms. We were staking it out when you busted in.” So that wasn’t the complete truth, but no way was she telling Irving what really happened, especially since he was looking suspiciously at her hastily rewrapped and finger-combed hair.

 

A sudden intrusion of noise and shouts had startled Abbie and Crane out of their sensuous haze. For a few seconds all they could do was stare at each other before she’d wiggled awkwardly out of his arms and grabbed her dress and thong. He turned his back to give her some privacy and to fix his own attire, and only turned around at her muttered, “I’m decent.” She saw him open his mouth to say something, but brusquely forestalled him. “Not now.” She stalked over to the door, listening carefully before realising that Irving and a few officers were looking for them. “In here!” she shouted, banging on the door.

 

The taskforce had rounded up all those found – whether in the throes of passion or on drugs – and bundled them up in vans for processing at the police station. A thorough search of the basement and upper floors revealed nothing, no incriminating evidence, names, or information about Moloch. This clearly was not the headquarters of his operations given they couldn’t even find where the video feed was going. To say that Abbie was relieved at the unexpected reprieve from her indiscretion was an understatement.

 

Eventually there was nothing else to do other than stand around, ignoring Crane and looking at all the activity around them. By the end of the operation, Irving dismissed them, overriding Abbie’s wish to come into the station, saying he would provide a briefing in the morning.

 

Abbie could have used the action, especially as she and Crane drove in tense silence back to the motel the Feds were providing for him. She refused to look in his direction, nor did she encourage his stilted attempts to make conversation, especially the one that started, “About what happened tonight, Ms. Mills…” That she shot down as fast as she could. “It’s all good, Crane. Just doing what had to be done.” He said nothing else, but his fingers fiddled constantly for the rest of the drive as he gazed out the window. As soon as they reached the motel, she said, “See you in the morning,” and didn’t wait for him to reply before pulling off.

 

As she drove, she banged her hand on the steering wheel, angry and frustrated at how easily Crane got under her skin. She would rather pull out her hair than deal with this, but this _thing_ between them was a distraction and she could not afford any at this stage. She forced herself to think rationally about the situation:

1\. Sex with Luke had been fantastic, but it had been a couple of dry months since they broke up and there was only so much tension a vibrator and masturbation could relieve.

  
2\. Crane was a good-looking guy, if a little uptight. They worked in a close setting and it was only natural that proximity would cause a jumpstart to her hormones, especially after a night like tonight. Besides his dickprint was obvious; she had a great imagination. Nuff said.

  
3\. Crane looked at her sometimes like he was one step away from demanding she take off her panties. What made it worst was him being all chivalrous like holding the door open, making sure she was seated first and saying sweet shit like he didn’t want anything happening to her. She wasn’t proud of it, but clearly it was messing with her head. And pussy.

And that was where the problem lay, she supposed. He exploited some pretty big cracks in her defense, but there were a few things she could try:

1\. To get a friend that was not battery operated. Luke would have qualified, but after what went down between them, she was not flogging that dead horse. Besides he had moved to the City and she didn’t have time to be dating anyone now. Problem was that meant waiting until after the case was done.

  
2\. She couldn’t stop working with Crane, so she would have to start being more reserved. No more stare fests, or smiling at his cute actions, or doing things to get under his skin. Nope, nope, nope. That also meant ignoring the dickprint (or trying to, dammit).

  
3\. Stop reading more into what he was saying. The man was on a mission to recover his dead wife’s ashes, for God’s sake. He valued Abbie as the woman who would help him achieve his goal, end of conversation. So he was a little flirty; he was probably on a bit of a dry spell himself. The faster she understood that, the better for all their sakes. The stakes were too high to allow herself to be so distracted. Her professional integriy could never be compromised like that again.

 

*****************************

 

In the morning, she felt refreshed and alert, keen to get to the station and receive the updates. After thinking some more about the situation, she realised she needed to be more resolved and treat him just like Luke after the break-up or any other number of her male colleagues. Her head was back in the game, thank God, and it was a more focused Abigail Mills who pulled up to Crane’s motel, wished him a good morning – even gave him a brief smile – before handing over his morning tea and driving, without any conversation, to the station. She eagerly knocked on Captain Irving’s office, where Agent Frater was already waiting.

 

After exchanging pleasantries, Irving led on the briefing. “Here’s what we know so far. Moloch is running two rings: underground ‘reality’ porn and drugs.

 

“They started small with the drug ring, with a few people being introduced to drugs by Moloch’s henchmen. They targeted adventurous types looking for new kicks by telling them about a high profile secret party at Frederick’s manor. After getting them hooked, they gradually introduced the sex rooms, which started around six months ago. These guys would recommend some of their more straightlaced acquaintances to secretly follow them to Purgatory.”

 

“But how is it that no one knew or had heard of where the drug victims where going?” Crane asked.

 

Frater picked up the narrative. “’Cause Moloch’s guys would emphasise the need for secrecy, otherwise the little commission he gave them for recommending others – either drugs or money – would disappear. Besides by that time, Moloch’s guys had more than enough video feed to use blackmail to get what they wanted. To get into Purgatory, the persons doing the inviting would meet the victims near Frederick’s manor, and give them the card to recite the passphrase. When they enter, the vics would be given two choices for purification: by way of drugs or having sex in a closed room with one of the Purgatory followers, which was recorded. If the vics backed out, they were injected with a drug that would make their memory hazy or put them into a coma, so Purgatory’s location nor the underground porn could never be tracked back to Moloch.

 

“The sex recordings would be edited and sold on online sites as reality porn, like homemade sex tapes. If the tape scored big on the market, then the vic would be threatened with exposure and blackmailed into continuing, so Moloch could supply the market and make a lot of money. He came onto our radar about a year ago, trying to rival some of the underworld bosses for turf. From our intelligence, he started in smaller counties rather than the cities so he could hook up supply the network for the drugs and porn.”

 

“Wait, so reality porn. Is this like some kind of real life people having freaky, awkward sex? There are people who want to see pasty-ass librarians get the crap knocked out of them?” Abbie asked, confused.

  
Frater snorted. “People get their rocks off to a lot of stupid shit, Mills. You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

 

Irving sighed. “We still don’t have any intel about the killings.”

 

“Nor have we recovered my wife’s ashes, Captain,” Crane added.

 

Frater stared at Crane. “There may be a way we can light a fire under Moloch and his cronies from out of their hiding spot.” Crane looked back, nodding faintly.

 

“Care to share with the rest of the class?” Irving’s glance flicked between the two.

 

“I’ll leave you to explain this one.” Frater exited the room, leaving a baffled Abbie and Irving.

 

Abbie beat Irving to the question. “What’s that about, Crane?

 

Crane looked a bit embarrassed. “I should start from the beginning, from my background to my eventual involvement in this search for Moloch. I procure information for many wealthy individuals looking to solve their problems in online security. They contract me to hack into their systems – playing the role of a corporate spy, as it were – and I recommend upgrades if needed. Some of the companies I’ve worked for have contracts with the federal authorities so I was already on their radar for having knowledge of certain matters I should not.”

 

He paused briefly. “Most of the times, this contract comes from a CEO or board of directors and even some top executives are unaware of my activities. I was scanning information from one such company, when I came across an email of one employee noting that the Horseman was riding once again for Moloch, and that Purgatory was being held on July 16. At the time, I thought it made little sense but I was puzzled by it. As media reports increased on beheadings done by the Horseman, however, I began to pay more attention. I tried to do a bit more digging about Moloch, but his henchmen were less than appreciative of my attempts to spy on him in cyberspace and took my wife’s remains. By then the federal authorities were becoming aware of my indiscreet inquiries and interviewed me.” He hesitated again, saying sheepishly, “When they refused to help me find my wife’s ashes, I not only refused to tell them what I knew but also threatened to leak the information from the private intelligence I had gathered. Suffice to say, they were only too happy to use that excuse to detain me.”

 

For a few moments, there was silence. “So Moloch’s crew stole your dead wife’s ashes to send a warning to stop digging too deep. And the FBI put you on house arrest because you decided to play hardball with them.” Irving was openly sceptical. Abbie didn’t blame him; it sounded quite bizarre.

 

“Yes, well, I may have spoken highly about my own cyber abilities, so both made sure they compromised my physical security.” Crane fidgeted uncomfortably. Abbie snorted, easily imagining how his smugness got him into trouble.

 

“So you’re thinking of doing what exactly?” Irving questioned.

 

“I had tried tracing the employee’s online tracks to see if it would lead to Moloch’s location, but I could only pin down the general location to New York and that employee went into hiding after the federal authorities joined the search.” Crane sat up, eyes gleaming. “What we may have to do is modify an old-fashioned tactic: go on a stakeout.”

 

  
Crane’s plan was simple. Now that they knew underground reality porn was being created out of Purgatory, and knew of some of the “actors”, he would try to track as many of the videos he could find on online sites and trace them back to their original posting location using GPS.

 

“Captain, once anyone posts a video online using a digital camera or smartphone it can be tracked by finding the embedded coordinates – that is, latitude and longitude – at which they were taken and uploaded. From there I can use Google Street View to get a general idea of the area, even narrow down to the building within 500 feet.”

 

“How long will it take you?” Irving leaned forward, resting his arms on his desk.

 

“It depends on if they’ve added any barriers to slow down my inquiries, or if they’ve removed the tagging information.” Crane sighed. “It is a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack, so I have no way of knowing how much time that will take.”

 

“Hmmm. Alright, Crane track down these assholes online. Normally these guys don’t like to leave any tracks, but you might get lucky and get a slip-up. Mills, the interviews are here from the persons we detained last night.” Irving waved to a stack of files on his desk. “Get on it, you two.”

 

Back in the Armory – more like an Archives now by the number of files and police data they had stored down there – the two quickly separated onto their specific tasks. Abbie read through the dozens of files slowly, looking for anything that could jumpstart their new leads. She happened to look up and find Crane muttering to himself, shaking his head a few times, with fingers flying over the keyboard like some kind of techy-pianist. He would have made a good artist or surgeon with those long, sensitive fingers, she mused.

 

_Or a good lover_ , her mind helpfully supplied.

 

Her breath caught, remembering last night. See, this was the problem with crossing lines. You tended to know a lot of things you couldn’t unknow, like how a guy kissed, how he caressed, how his hands felt on her ass. She exhaled slowly, which did nothing to stop her nipples from tightening. _Not now_ , she said sternly to herself. Maybe it was a good time for a break anyway.

 

She grabbed her jacket from behind the chair, shrugging into it as she spoke. “Hey, Crane. I’m going to the diner. Want anything?”

 

His eyes keenly followed the extension of her arms as they fluffed her hair from the collar of the jacket to the front of her crumpled T-shirt, where a hint of skin peaked near the button of her jeans. If her nipples had reacted before, now her breasts were swelling helplessly, imagining the feel of his mouth nibbling and suckling on hardened peaks before drifting down to kiss the skin on display. He stared at her waist before clearing his throat and abruptly turning back to his laptop. “No thank you, Lieutenant.”

 

_Damn_! She thought as she exited. If all he had to do was look at her to cause a reaction, she was in much bigger trouble than she thought.

  
************************************

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In good news, I have the chapter with the smut completed, just waiting to be released :) In other news, I think I'm skating on thin ice with some parts of the plot :(   
> As always, love to hear your feedback!


	6. Chapter 6

“Abbie?”

On her way back to the station, she turned with bag of donut holes in hand, smiling warmly in recognition. “Hey, Brooks. Long time no see.”

He smiled a little nervously. “Can we talk for a minute?”

She led him to one of the conference rooms, saying as they sat, “Sorry we haven’t had chance to catch up lately. I’m on Captain’s special task force.”

Andy Brooks had been a constant in Abbie’s life. They were around the same age, had attended the same high school, but then she had gone off the deep end after her parents’ death and separation from Jenny, and they’d lost contact, eventually linking back up at the Academy. After she and Luke broke up, Andy had made it a point to let her know he was there for her whenever or whatever she needed. They’d been on much friendlier terms lately, hooking up for coffee breaks and movie outings. Abbie had the distinct impression, based on some hints he’d been dropping, that he’d been working up the nerve to ask her out to a more romantic setting, before Corbin had been murdered. Luke had always teased that Brooks had a thing for her, but she’d never really figured out what to do about it, content to keep him at arm’s length.

“Uh, that’s kinda what I want to talk to you about actually.” He scratched his head. “Be careful, Abbie.”

  
“Why, what’s going on?”

“I only hear the grapevine, but seems like a lot of shadiness around this Purgatory thing. I mean it could be dangerous, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.” She didn’t doubt his sincerity; one thing about Andy was that he was always interested in her wellbeing.

Lot of concern for her general safety these days, though _,_ she thought a little dryly. “That’s kind of you, Andy,” she said a little coolly, “but this is my job.”

“I know you can handle yourself; I’m just looking out for a friend. Besides, what do you know about this Crane guy anyway? The Feds brought him in handcuffs and suddenly you’re working with him? Maybe he copped a deal with them somehow but he’s still wrapped up in the whole thing, you know?” Andy looked earnestly at her.

And just like that, her spidey senses started tingling. Expressionless, she stared back at him. “I’m good, but thanks for looking out for me.”

Recognising the dismissal in her voice, he stood up. “Thanks, Abbie. I won’t keep you.” He smiled in relief on his way out. She returned it but as soon as he shut the door, it fell from her face. If she didn’t know any better, that sounded like a very pointed warning, and though Andy was a great friend, something felt...off about the whole thing.

Still puzzling it through, she reentered the Archives and placed the donut holes on her desk. Crane was still scowling ferociously at his laptop.

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“It is not ‘going’,” he muttered. He sniffed the air, turning around until she gestured in his direction with the bag.

“Donut holes. Want some?”

“I do not want a donut hole,” he declared imperiously. She rolled her eyes at his prissiness and ate slowly, just in case. A few minutes later, after his stomach loudly growled in the silence, he mumbled, “Well, I would not mind trying one.”

Like it would kill him to use better manners. He got the point and huffed good-naturedly after she deliberately stared at him, waiting patiently for him to realise the exclusion. “If you please.” She had to stifle the smile at his appreciative, “Oh, these are good!” The man had a sweet tooth to rival a kid’s.

  
************************************

  
Unfortunately, the case really wasn’t going anywhere and it seemed like they were not having any other luck. Abbie had thoroughly combed the files three times over and followed up on interviewing some of the victims. Crane was diligently pounding away on the laptop, but more than a week later neither had not found any success. The FBI resources available to them hadn’t opened any new doors either. Crane had stumbled across some of the Purgatory porn, and though he was able to get around the login required to access the files, he couldn’t trace the original posting site. They were both more than frustrated, feeling close but yet so far from the breakthrough to solve the case.

Until the ante was raised in ghastly fashion.

“Mills,” she answered Captain Irving’s call, turning away from the board where they’d written pertinent information about Purgatory.

“Get out here now. The Horseman struck again.” The strain in Irving’s voice set off her alarm bells. “This time he’s killed four people.”

  
*************************************

Back at the Academy, one of the training officers had made it a point to bring the most gruesome pictures from case files to class. She had emphasised to all the recruits that they had to be mentally and psychologically prepared for anything when going out to crime scenes. “You don’t want to be the rookie puking your guts outside,” she’d said wryly to a highly amused class.

This was no laughing matter now, with veteran cops looking a little green and the latest rookie rushing towards the bushes. Abbie was tense as they walked over to the police tape, Crane raising it out of her way before she could reach it.

The elegant mansion before them was well known in Sleepy Hollow as the local chapter of the masonic fraternity. The usually placid, well-manicured grounds were teaming with police, forensic and medical officials rushing to and fro to secure evidence. To their right, a large crowd had formed, realising that something out of the ordinary had happened for such a large number of emergency personnel to be on the scene. Abbie was dismayed to see people recording the events with cellphones, despite police cordoning off the area, and noticed the van of one local news network pulling up by the curb.

S _hit. This was getting out of control, and getting worse by the minute,_ she thought. Her stomach tightened, apprehensive at what they would find. Irving nodded to them as they fell in step. A glance at the Captain’s face confirmed these were no ordinary beheadings and as they walked to the back of the building, she quickly saw why.

The chirping birds and lush foliage provided an incongruous contrast to the four heads hanging below them. Idly swaying in the wind, the heads had been cleaned of all matter, eyes gouged and cheeks hollowed to create macabre jack-of-lanterns. Small beads of blood rolled down severed necks, staining the grass below to create a collage of mottled green and red pools.

It wasn’t hard at all to sympathise with the medical examiners who were aghast at the gory scene before them, and she bowed her head, overwhelmed for a minute. Next to her Crane swallowed hard and looked away. They eventually watched in revulsion as the forensic team climbed ladders to put the heads into bags for evidence.

“The maid called it in about half hour ago. As you could appreciate, she wasn’t really in a talking mood when we got here, but somebody put it out on social media, hence the crowd outside.” Irving gestured towards the shed to the right. “The rest of the bodies were found over there, along with a message.”

Looking at each other before walking over the shed, the sinking sensation in Abbie’s stomach grew worse as they read the message that had been spelled out using the remains from inside the heads: **Your move**.

“Lieutenant.” Crane’s voice was urgent. She nodded. “Yeah.” It didn’t take a genius or professional profiler to figure out that Moloch was pissed at their sting operation, and ready to taunt them however he could.

Irving joined them, steepling his fingers on his face. The cadence of his slow, enunciated words emphasised just how agitated he was. “The mayor is on my ass about this, since these are the people he gets a lot of his campaign contributions from. I got alphabet networks and the fucking White House asking me for explanations I can’t give and I’m told that press from as far away as China want an interview.” He exhaled and folded his fingers, looking for all that he was making a grim prayer and directed his intense stare at them. “I **need** answers, Mills, and fast. I **need** to catch this fucker.”

She and Crane could only nod as he turned away to attend to the forensic team. Crane ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the short strands out of position. They exchanged a wordless glance and turned back to the vehicle.

As they drove back to the Archives, Abbie rubbed her forehead. This latest assault was deliberately provocative and attention grabbing. They had pushed Moloch alright, but he pushed back - four times as hard. This was a shitfest and Abbie was trying her best to control the panic welling up. Where the fuck were they going to start? She was at her wit’s end. Not only did they have no new leads, but they also had to contend with the political firestorm of murders of prominent Sleepy Hollow citizens, which was igniting more national and international attention than they could handle. The tension headache that had been threatening all morning was now erupting in full, not being helped at all by different thoughts running around helplessly in a circle. This was the biggest case of her career, mentally and emotionally and it was beginning to tell on her.

  
In the Archives, she hesitated by the window, staring below at the throngs of media parked outside and for the first time since they’d started this case, she felt utterly defeated and tired. She leaned against her forearm and closed her eyes, hearing Crane approach. At his silent regard, she found herself admitting quietly, “I’m worried.”

Another minute of silence went by, before she said jerkily, “We’re behind the 8-ball Crane, scrambling to mount a defence instead of conquering the enemy. We can’t even fucking find Moloch, furthermore stop him.” She suddenly banged her other hand on the wall above. “Four heads, cleaned out completely. He’s a damn psychopath, Crane. We’re dealing with a fucking maniac.”

The sudden tears surprised her and she quickly blinked them away. It wasn’t like crying in frustration would solve anything now. Crane broke the lengthy silence by offering hesitantly, “It seems a dire situation, Lieutenant…”

“No shit, Sherlock.” She bit out.

“You and your interruptions,” he muttered. “As I was saying,” She smiled sadly at their familiar banter, “it seems a dire situation, but we have something the enemy does not.” He paused dramatically behind her. She could almost picture him, eyebrows raised expectantly, and smug face proclaiming he knew something she didn’t.

“Okay, I’ll bite.” She turned mockingly. “What’s that?”

“Each other.” Turns out she was wrong, he wasn’t smirking in triumph, but was focused, resolute and determined. He stood ramrod straight, almost like a soldier at attention and pierced her with his sharp blue eyes. “A series of strange circumstances has led us on this path, Lieutenant. And yet, I would rather no one else in my corner at this stage when all seems lost. We’re formidable together, you and I, and I believe we can defeat this ‘fucking maniac’ as you’ve deemed him once we remember that our strength is his greatest weakness.”

At his words, she found herself thinking of Corbin, and an episode from their past. She’d been angry at him for his belief that there were still a good life for her despite what had happened to her and Jenny. Their parents had died in a car accident and Jenny had been sent to another home because no foster family wanted to adopt two older children at the same time. That double whammy had been enough to send Abbie down a dark path, self-medicating and doing stupid shit with other lost souls to dull the pain anyway she could. Sheriff Corbin had arrested an indifferent 18-year-old Abigail Mills, convincing her over apple pie a la mode to try to turn her life around.

But working in his office had not always gone smoothly, and one day she’d yelled at him, frustrated he was trying to mold her into some goody two-shoes she wasn’t, with his crazy talk about reconciling with her sister and working for a greater good. He’d waited patiently while she argued how unfair life had been to her before shooting straight, as usual. August Corbin had never sugarcoated anything for her, and didn’t hesitate now, “You already decided to change your life the minute you didn’t choose jail. Problem is you’re too caught up in your head to realise it. So you had a tough break, losing the white picket fence and the dog. You can make your own happiness again, kid. There’s always another way.” The memory was so strong she could almost see him looking at her with that impassive face, waiting for her to see the light.

“There’s always another way,” she whispered, coming out of her thoughts to look at Crane once again. “We just have to figure it out.”

“Indeed, Lieutenant, indeed.” He looked relieved at her change of heart.

“Formidable, huh?” she questioned, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, well, fucking awesome may be more technically accurate, if not linguistically sound.” Her bark of laughter was louder than it should have been, but damn if it didn’t feel good to be get back her mojo.

“Let’s get to it, Crane.” She clapped him on the shoulder in passing. “We’ve got a man to catch.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've realised I haven't really been describing our protagonists. Lousy at descriptions, I am :) Abbie is pretty much S1 and S2 Abbie, with that uniform of jeans, jacket, shirt (ad nauseam). Crane, however: If you've ever seen the Emmy magazine write-up and photoshoot about Miharie and Sleepy Hollow, that's the Crane I'm shooting for, sizzling chemistry and all!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay and any fubars in the next two chapters. I just wanted to be done with this damn plot! Next time I'll think twice before committing to such a plot intensive fic. Sexy times ahead too :)

“What’s this?” She flipped the plain envelope with her name printed on it, but the back was as devoid of a return address or identifying mark as the front. It seemed relatively empty save for a small object inside. Wendy at reception peaked over the window behind her desk.

  
“I don’t know, Lieutenant Mills. I took a break and when I came back it was there, but no one signed off on it.”

  
“Hmmn, thanks Wendy.” Abbie smiled as she left, with Crane on her heels bobbing his head in farewell.

  
They were returning from the evidence locker after deciding to sift through all and every minutiae that had been recovered during the raid. As Crane had proposed, it would be a good idea to start from the beginning again, eliminating everything that could be accounted for and examining all else with fresh eyes.  Abbie slipped the envelope into the bag that contained the other evidence.

  
They stood over the desk, removing jackets and looking at the few components below them making up the hidden camera and cable. Crane had suggested that if he look at them, he might be able to narrow down the manufacturer and supplier to have a solid lead to chase. “Though I fear that is another needle in a haystack.” He checked the slot for the memory card. “Ms. Mills, where is the SD card for this surveillance camera?”

  
“It never had one as far as I know. Irving said it was being recorded remotely.” She had been too worried that night not to ensure there was no immediate trace of their…activities in the room.

  
“Yes be that as it may,” Crane frowned uncomfortably, no doubt remembering why she’d been concerned about recording, “there were other cameras. I had asked Captain Irving and he told me that while the camera in our room connected directly to a foreign source, the others were standard operating models that carried SD slots. The cards were inside their slots on the night of the sting operation. So where are they?”

  
“Maybe inside the bag?” she turned it upside, but the only thing that dropped out was the envelope Wendy had handed to her. She put it aside, thinking briefly.

  
“I’ll call the Captain and find out if the tech guys have them.” But Irving had no idea they were gone, promising to check on it and get back to her. She shrugged at Crane, feeling as helpless as he looked. “Let’s look again at the cameras.”

  
Crane held up one to the light until they spotted tiny white print towards one end. She went over to a drawer and pulled out a magnifying glass. “Here.”

  
He read off the serial and model numbers for that and all the other cameras they had retrieved. “Now for the tedious part: calling and emailing companies to see if they had sold these models within the past year.”

  
He was right. It was an arduous process with most suppliers refusing to give details on their clientele despite knowing it was a federal investigation.

  
“Listen, you’ll have to subpoena me or speak to my attorney. My clients like the fact that I’m discreet. I ain’t going to lose business ’cause I can’t keep my mouth shut.” Abbie gritted her teeth, trying to keep her cool at one business owner’s response.

  
“Sir, I appreciate your concerns, but believe me when I say we will keep your identity a secret. There will be no way your customers will connect the information you provide to us back to you.”

  
She held her breath. “Listen, I can give you the number of a guy who buys from me and sells to people who like to go undetected. He might be able to help you more than me.” He quickly rattled off the digits and hung up, preventing Abbie from asking any follow-up questions. She grabbed the closest paper to her to write on (the envelope) and as she did figured out the shape of the object inside. It was a flashdrive.

  
She plugged it into her laptop, idly listening to Crane’s conversation. “Yes madam, while I am not an American citizen as you rightly surmised, it does not forbid me from consulting with your security forces.”

  
The window popped up displaying a single video file. She looked at it apprehensively before clicking on it. The video that started was out of focus at first, with grainy, dark footage and no sound, but as it sharpened she instantly recognised the setting. It was them, she and Crane, in that room.

  
Abbie watched open-mouthed as the sinking sensation in her stomach hit bottom. It was them, with Crane now kneeling to take off her shoes and she brazenly kissing him, sucking his mouth as if she was going to devour him. _Damn_ , she thought, barely blinking. Watching it was reminding her of every sensation, thought and feeling she’d experienced then, which was not helping her already overactive libido. She idly mused that they looked good on camera and it would be something to try next time…

  
“Ms. Mills, what are you watching so intently?” It was instinct that led her hand to the lid of the laptop ready to slam it shut from his eyes behind her before she remembered.

  
Abbie sighed. “You should see this.” She restarted it, moving her chair so he could see the screen.

  
“Oh my,” he breathed, as soon as he recognised what they were viewing.

  
“Yeah.”

  
They watched silently as their recorded selves removed each other’s clothing, before they abruptly stopping clearly having just been interrupted by the commotion caused by Captain Irving and his team. Next to her, Crane was not as uncomfortable as she might have thought. If anything he was watching keenly, paying such close attention to the screen she suspected he was cataloguing their reactions to each other. That was not helping her libido any, especially when he leaned in closer to the screen. She shifted her eyes and breathed in discreetly, hoping it would help her regain control over an active imagination. The laptop’s speakers flared to life; this time it was a press conference Irving had held assuring the public that his office was on top of investigating the gruesome headless murders. She recognised this; it had occurred a few months before Crane had arrived. After Irving’s words, the video flashed back to Abbie and Crane kissing frantically. Then it faded to black.

  
She looked over the envelope the flashdrive had come in, while Crane rewatched the video, examining the drive on his own laptop to see if he could detect where it had been created. She gazed out into the distance, focused on her thoughts. This was a dig against their professionalism as a team, alright, but it was sent to her personally instead of being broadcast on the news or social media. Maybe Moloch was messing with them again, trying to keep the upper hand in a grim game of cat and mouse.

"Ms. Mills." Crane was hesitant. "The location point – it’s along this street."

  
And just like that it clicked. It was a warning for sure but not from Moloch - far too subtle. No, this was someone who cared about her wellbeing, who looked out for her, who had recently delivered his own message.

 _Shit_. She screwed her eyes shut. "Andy."

  
********************************************

  
She explained the situation quickly to Irving, who rubbed his hands over his face contemplating her words. “What the fuck is going on here, Mills? I got a man beheading people, pornography basements and bent cops. Next you’re going to tell me there are witches and demons too.” She grimaced, silently acknowledging it had been a crazy ride so far. “Brooks, huh? It’s always the quiet ones. What’s your next move?”

 

“We plan to tail him, see who he’s hanging around and maybe he’ll lead us to Moloch.”

 

“Or you could finally throw the guy a bone and go on a date with him,” Irving observed dryly. At her incredulous look, he smirked slightly. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Mills. Police captains tend to observe what’s going on around them. They keep their ears to the ground. Now I’m not one to gossip, but I’ve found it helpful to encourage colleagues to share their views and opinions on the world around them.” He shrugged, exaggerating the movement while Abbie made a face. “If that happens to include the Westchester County Police Department, then so be it.”

 

Crane frowned. “But Captain, I don’t believe the Lieutenant should expose herself to unnecessary danger without a partner, so to speak.”

 

Abbie swung around to face him, ready to take him down for that but Irving spoke first. “Tail him, but don’t be too obvious about it. I want to know who he’s seeing, what he’s eating, even where his dog pisses.” He glared at them, transitioning into the hard-nosed badass the department was well familiar with.

 

“Sir,” she spun curtly on her heels, Crane following as they made their way back to the Archives.

 

She paced in steps of ten, nervous energy needing an outlet to burn itself out. “All along we’ve felt Moloch was one step ahead of us, but we trumped him by stopping Purgatory. We beat him. He though he put the pressure back on us by beheading four people. But we have something he doesn't: intel. Now that we know that Andy,” a sudden, unexpected lump of emotion caused her to stop and swallow involuntarily, “is mixed up in all of this, we have the upper hand.”

 

“Indeed, Lieutenant. Let us make it work to our advantage.”

 

******************************************************

 

As it was, they didn’t last too long before they were deliberately trapped by Andy. They had been tailing him for days and when he disappeared into an alley, Abbie had uncharacteristically run out of patience, disregarding Crane’s advice to keep out of sight. Finding Andy waiting for them, leaning nonchalantly against a wall, brought her up abruptly; Abbie cursed herself for getting played so thoroughly.

  
“You think I wouldn’t notice the giant string bean that follows you every where?” Andy attempted a smile, failing miserably as she regarded him levelly.

  
“I’m going to ask you one question, and one question only.” It was the voice she used when speaking to perps when trying to coax information out of them, and it broke her heart; judging by Andy’s crestfallen face, it broke his too. “Why?”

 

“Would you believe $500 started all of this? You would appreciate the irony, Abbie. The all too familiar tale of a loan shark helping a gambler who mounted up more and more debt, only to fall deeper into the rabbit hole.” Andy didn’t bother to hide the tears gathering. “It’s like I’ve sold my soul to him, Abbie. He controls me.” His broken works tugged at Abbie’s heartstrings despite herself and her throat tightened from emotion. "Every time he called in a favour I tried to tell him it was the last time...You have no idea how hard it's been."

 

“And the headless horseman?” Crane asked, momentarily breaking the spell over Abbie. “Who is he?”

 

“Abbie. I…care about you. Please, I’m trying to protect you as best I can. You don’t want to go down this ro-"

 

"Answer the question, Andy," she interrupted stone-faced.

 

“Just one of Moloch’s men. Moloch thought it was funny to play on the Legend of Sleepy Hollow theme. He thought the murders would distract police from his porn basement. Abbie, you gotta believe me.” He looked at her pleadingly. “I swear I never knew who they were going to kill people and I never would have let Corbin get hurt.”

 

Problem was Abbie didn’t trust him; she felt betrayed and sick to her stomach. She thought of the last year, and her stomach rolled even more. He had stood next to her supportively at Corbin’s funeral, where she, stoic and heartbroken, had mourned the man who was more like a father than a Sheriff. He knew her pain, all this time, and pretended to be in her corner while working for the enemy.

 

She jutted out her chin, barely able to look at him, but putting it all aside as usual. “If you really want to help, you’ll start naming names, Andy. That’s the only way you’ll get out of this with any dignity left.”

 

He stared at her with what seemed like genuine regret. “I’m sorry Abbie. I can’t, I’m in too deep.” He glanced behind them and nodded. “Go ahead.”

 

She had no time to turn before the jarring blow came, shocking her senses and sending her swiftly into darkness.

 

******************************************

 

The slight blur and headache suggested they’d been knocked out; Crane’s warning words confirmed it. “Easy, Lieutenant. Watch how you rise.”  
Abbie strained to examine their surroundings, eyes eventually adjusting to the faint light. They were in an closed room with a small sash window high off the ground next to some cardboard boxes.

  
“I believe we are back in Purgatory.” He nodded to the doorway. “This room looks familiar from the last time we were here.”

  
The rest of the room was empty, save for where they’d been deposited on the tile-less cement floor and her phone and gun was missing; Crane’s own were probably gone too. She cautiously sat up, studying the distance from the ground to the window before coming to a quick decision.

  
“Come on.” She nodded in the window’s direction, then winced in regret as her head protested the movement. “You’ll have to give me a heads-up.”

  
“What? Do you mean to climb up there?” he looked startled.

  
“We don’t have much time. We have to warn Captain Irving before Andy gets away. Hurry!” she said impatiently.

  
He moved over to the pallets and bent, arms and legs at a clumsy angle, to hold out his hands for her to step on. She held onto his shoulders, breathing through a wave of dizziness before reaching for the window. She registered the feel of her ass on his cheek and switched gears before she could think on it too much. Her hands scrambled for purchase against the bricks but the window was still out of reach; with a little more height she might be able to reach it.

 

“Crane.” She looked down at him. “I need to get higher.”

 

“Higher, how?” She rolled her eyes in annoyance; for such an intelligent man he could be so damn slow at times.

  
“Push me higher,” she repeated slowly. “Or put me on your shoulders.”

  
He swallowed, looking uncomfortable but nodded and helped her to the ground. Abbie faced him, trying to work out the logistics of this and realised just why he had been embarrassed. She would have to straddle his head and her pussy would be right in danger’s way – by his head.  
She shook her head, grimacing again from the stabbing pain; this wasn’t the time or the place. He bent completely down while she climbed onto his shoulders. Holding on to her thighs, and with her hands on his shoulders, he stood up carefully, looking for all the world like a circus acrobat balancing another performer. This time they were successful and she ungracefully pulled up to the sill, while pushing it with all her might. It slowly eased open – it probably had not been oiled for a while – until it widened enough for her to ease through. Crane pushed her from underneath as best he could and she slithered onto the ground, huffing for breath, head aching and scrunching her eyes from the sudden shock of sunlight.

  
“Lieutenant!” She hurriedly crawled over to where she’d left Crane, hoping no one had heard the noise.

  
She waved her hand through the window indicating that he should remain quiet, while she glanced around noting a sizeable rock nearby that would have to be her weapon of choice should the need arise. A few tense beats later, senses primed as best they could to listen out for intruders, she whispered to Crane that she would get to Irving as fast as she could.

 

“Godspeed.” His voice drifted up softly. “Be careful, Abbie.”

 

She smiled, shooting a thumb’s up to him and hurried off through the woods behind the house as quickly as possible.

 

In the end, it was anticlimatic how it ended. She’d hitched a ride with a trucker and got back to the station to quickly fill in Irving, who issued a warrant for Andy and rescued Crane. In no time at all, state troops had picked up a cowering Andy Brooks along with two of Moloch’s musclemen heading in a pick-up truck to the Canadian border. With nowhere else to go and no other options, Andy finally revealed everything he knew about Moloch’s operations, including the critical information about Moloch’s whereabouts.

 

Irving and Frater led the taskforce to recover Moloch that same evening. In the emergency ward where he'd insisted they’d go to recover from the injuries they received in the alley, Abbie put Irving on speaker, breaking out into a sparkling smile at his words: “We got him, Mills. We finally got him.” She closed her eyes, basking in sheer relief that the case was finally closed. Crane was equally elated, offering his congratulations to the Captain before she ended the call.

 

Face bursting from the triumphant smile, Abbie held out her fist expectantly; Crane looked at it then back to her.

 

“Am I supposed to know what to do?”

 

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “How do you not know a fistbump?”

 

“I know what a fistbump is, Ms. Mills.” That was a huffy response if ever there was one, which meant he probably didn’t know why she wanted to do it.

 

She explained patiently. “It’s an expression of elation. Teamwork. We got him.”

 

He smiled proudly, and knocked his fist against hers. “Yes,” he mused smugly. “It does feel good taking down the bastard.” She laughed, enjoying the joy thrumming through her.

 

“Damn right, Crane.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

The press conference was long and boring, especially since she and Crane were only allowed to entertain a few questions from the media. It had taken a while to organise too, given that the White House had to be personally briefed. But she understood the rationale behind it, and given the national and international interest in the story – the conference was being carried live on CNN for fuck's sake! – the public would get some of the answers behind the infamous horseman beheadings. Although there were several times she registered when some truths were omitted or heavily sanitised.

  
Afterwards, she turned back on her phone and saw a few congratulatory messages from some friends and one missed call in particular that had her dialling back immediately. It rang a few times before being picked up.

 

“Jenny, you called?”

 

“Just checking in. You looked tense up there.”

 

Abbie moved away to a corridor that was empty. “Yeah, well, lots of cameras and lights.”

 

There was a brief silence before Jenny asked. “How are you really?”

 

How was she? She had no idea. After the initial happiness at solving the case, she thought she would have closure but she just felt drained. She closed her eyes tightly, fighting off the weariness. It wasn’t fair: Corbin’s death wasn’t part of some grand, mysterious plot; it was a stupid ploy to cause distraction. It was an empty feeling knowing that sometimes the good guys didn’t always win. And then to contrast it with Andy’s betrayal … she hadn't been able to process that yet. She would never imagine in a hundred years he would prove to be disloyal, but apparently life still hadn’t finished kicking her in the gut where loved ones were concerned. She should know better by now about trusting people.

  
"I don’t know Jen. I don’t know if I ever will.”

 

There was another moment of silence before Jenny said tauntingly. “Well, at least you come out of this looking good as usual, sis. Especially with Mr. Tall Dark and British standing so close to you he might as well be your guard dog. ”

 

Leave it to Jenny to throw in a dig or two if she could. “He’s just my partner, nothing more.”

 

“Sounds like something otherwise you wouldn’t deny it.”

 

“It’s complicated,” she sighed.

 

“So uncomplicate it. He has a dick. You sit on it and ride til the cows come home, lather, rinse, repeat.”

 

“That’s your solution for everything? Sex?” Abbie said wryly.

 

“Why, what’s the problem?” Jenny deadpanned. “Besides, as much as you shine in the police world you kinda suck at picking up guys.”

 

Abbie drew in a deep breath before saying what was really on her mind. “What I really want is for us to hang out some more.” The only thing she had been able to make sense of was her remaining priorities, chief of which was repairing the relationship with her sister, especially since she would be applying to Quantico and leaving for training. She thought again about Andy, a little bitterly. She'd placed blind loyalty in him instead of her own sister, but then again how loyal had she been to Jenny in the past?

  
  
There had been a brief opportunity for them to be reunited when Jenny was 16 to Abbie’s 18, but Abbie had declined. It pained her to think about it now - she had turned her back on her own sister, because she was saving up to leave Sleepy Hollow as fast as she could with its bad memories and even worse experiences. The loser boyfriend she had at the time had convinced her to shoplift jewellery to fund the trip, but in being caught by August Corbin, Abbie had instead stayed in Sleepy Hollow, gone to the Academy and joined the force. Jenny ironically was the one who left Sleepy Hollow two years later, eventually travelling the world working odd jobs without so much of a backward glance to Abbie.

  
Why she had come back to Sleepy Hollow she never revealed. It was only through Corbin’s interference and persistence that Abbie had rekindled the familial connection, though Jenny had bristled at her initial overtures. As it was, they still had a prickly relationship, more often than not saying the wrong thing to each other and causing bruised feelings. Abbie had tried more than once to give up and walk away but she found herself feeling guilty about how things had worked out between them, with Corbin counselling to keep at it.

  
“I just…I mean I haven’t been the best big sister but I want to try, you know? I miss us.” The silence stretched on and Abbie held her breath, a little nervous at what Jenny might say.

  
“You know, I met Sheriff Corbin a few times.”

  
“Really?” Corbin had never said anything to her.

  
“Yeah, saw him out on the shooting range a few times. Ran into him when I was coming back into town.”

  
Jenny was always mum on exactly what she did outside of Sleepy Hollow, though Abbie was fairly certain she’d had tactical training at one point given some rather impressive knowledge of arms and military strategy.

 

“He was one of the good guys.” Jenny hesitated, then barrelled straight through Abbie’s emotions. “Like Mama and Daddy.”

 

The tears pooled, eventually spilling and refilling at memories Abbie rarely allowed herself to indulge in. Of her first bike ride; of Daddy patiently teaching them to swim in the community pool; wrestling with her and Jenny; dancing with Mama in the kitchen; Mama teaching them how to bake her famous cornbread. Of accident scenes, and kind Sheriffs shuttling wailing children away from bloody bodies and mangled vehicles; of grim, heartwrenching funerals; of feeling completely thrown off kilter, with so much pain it was hard to talk sometimes; of saying goodbye to sisters who couldn’t be adopted by the same family and repeating one of Mama’s paranoid mantras for walking on the roads to and from schools: “Eyes open, heads up, trust no one.” Of feeling so alone, so abandoned, that it would be a long time before anyone could get that close again.

 

“Yeah,” she whispered brokenly. “The best.”

 

**********************************************

 

Another round of exhausting briefings and interviews quickly passed and it was in Irving’s office a few days later that Agent Frater shook her hand in farewell. “You know, the way August talked about you, you’d think you were 6 feet tall. Imagine my surprise when I come in and see this pint-sized lady running the show. I know he and Joe didn’t always see eye to eye, but you were a comfort to him, don’t ever forget that. Like you were his own daughter. When you’re ready to apply to the Bureau, give me a holler. I’d be proud to write you a recommendation.”

 

He moved on to Crane and Irving while Abbie sat in front of the Captain’s desk, gaze focused on one of Irving’s photo frames, a picture of him and a young girl in a wheelchair; his daughter, it looked like. The smiling and relaxed expression on Irving’s face showed a different side to the hard-nosed Captain everyone in the station knew him to be. Yet he clearly found time for his daughter, any way he could. She’d seen similar photographs in Corbin’s office so many times – of him and Joe, of his wife, even one of her after graduation from the Academy. She missed him deeply and the hardest part of all was that he would never see her fulfil her FBI dream. And yet if he himself had to evaluate the whole thing, he’d probably say, “You did good, kid. Don’t worry about the rest, it’ll take care of itself.” She nodded as if he’d actually spoken, breathing in the bittersweet memories.

 

After Frater left, Irving moved behind his desk, while Crane sat next to her. “Sheriff Corbin was a good man, Mills. He didn’t deserve this,” Irving said softly, looking in her direction. There was a brief silence in honour of Corbin’s memory before Irving continued, “So something I’ve been meaning to ask Crane. What’s your other background?”

 

“What do you mean, Captain?”

 

“The Feds treated you way too good for just an ordinary citizen with information who threatened to expose them.” _It had been bugging her as well too_ , Abbie thought.

 

“Most of it is classified, but suffice to say I rose to the rank of Captain in the Intelligence Division of Her Majesty’s Service. I believe the special relationship between our countries and the cooperation I’ve rendered at times during my years of service counted in my favour.” At Abbie and Irving’s sharp stares, he nodded once as if to confirm their suspicions that he had indeed been a spy.

 

“So why did you only spill when Mills came into the picture? Not that she isn’t lovely to look at and all that.” Abbie shot Irving a look. “Just sayin’.”

 

Crane glanced quickly over at her. “On the drive over to this county department, one loose-lipped agent questioned her ability to be on the case, given the recent loss of her mentor. I knew then that she would be just as driven as I was to catch these bastards.”

 

“Well, that’s a case solved I don’t ever want to look back at. One thing I still don’t know.” And here, Captain Irving looked a little mischievous, if Abbie didn’t know better. “Did they get any recordings the night of the sting operation?”

 

“Er, from Purgatory, Captain?” Crane was stalling, but she could tell he was nervous. So could Irving.

 

“Well,” Irving’s voice was offhand, but his gaze wasn’t. “I’m just wondering if there’s gonna be any copies circulating around the deep web featuring you two.”

 

“Nothing happened,” they said simultaneously. Irving raised an eyebrow, but after taking in Crane’s discomfort and Abbie’s closed-off expression apparently decided not to pursue the matter further. “Good thing too since Moloch never released anything from that night. Wonder what happened to the footage?” He gave Crane a knowing look; Crane stared back, impassive but for a slight twitch in his fingers. _God_ , thought an exasperated Abbie, _how the hell did he make it as a spy_?

 

“Get out of my office, you two.” Irving stood, extending his hand to Crane. “I wish I could say it was a pleasure, Crane, but you helped solved the case which means I owe you. Mills, you’ve earned yourself a couple of days. See you next week.” He sat back at his desk, picking up a report.

 

“Thank you, Captain.” They looked at each other, having once again spoken in tandem. Irving shook his head and mumbled, “So damn obvious.” Abbie ignored him and preceded Crane out of the office as he held the door for her.

 

Outside the station, she stuffed her hands in her pockets and asked as nonchalantly as possible. “So, what’s on the cards for you?”

  
“That depends on you.” He sidled closer to her, blue eyes intent and keen. “I’m scheduled to leave the country in two days to close a few contracts I’m behind on, but you and I have some unfinished business, Lieutenant.”

 

She swallowed, returning his stare as a flush of heat went through her. “Yeah, I guess we do.” She couldn’t deny it; there was something there that had been pushed aside for the good of the case, but that connection was always buzzing between them. It was there now, throbbing to life on finally being acknowledged and spoken of.

 

“I have done nothing but think of you of varying naked scenarios for the past few weeks, Ms. Mills,” he said softly. “The worst part about that night was that I didn’t have a chance to bring you to completion. I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life as to lay you on the bed and lick your delicious, wet cunt.” His fingers were twitching, but this time she could feel the intent. He wanted to hold her, right now, and show her everything, every move, he’d imagined with her.

 

And God, she really wanted that as well. She closed her eyes, appealing for some control. It was beyond time to give them what they were craving. It was time to give in.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smutty smut alert aka The Chapter Where Abbie Gets All The D :)

In the months that followed, she often pulled up the memories of their days together, playing them like a movie reel, pausing and rewinding over and over. There was their first time, barely making it into her apartment properly, all the while desperately attacking each other’s mouths and pulling off clothes. She revelled in being finally able to touch him properly, gasping in response as he roughly caressed her skin. He tried to slow the pace by pressing her against the wall and kissing her as slowly as possible, but she tore that plan to shreds by hooking her legs around his waist and grinding unashamedly on his dick. He pulled away, eyes burning, and leaned down bent at an awkward angle to swirl her nipples in his mouth. And yes, _thank God!_ that felt as good as she had imagined, with his teeth lightly grazing the tips and tongue sucking hard. “Yes, just like that,” she whispered.

 

He stumbled them to the bedroom, putting her on the bed while he sat to deal with the condom. She squeezed her arms and legs around him, pressing against his back and kissing him as many places as she could, easily distracting him from his task. Her nimble hands flew over his chest, teasing his nipples to hardness. He jumped, and fumbled with the latex yet again. “Have a care, Abbie.”

 

She nipped him in the back, laughing sultrily, “Why, what are you going to do about it?” Then shrieked in delight as he quickly turned around and crowded her onto her back, tip poised at her entrance while she waited breathlessly below.

 

“This,” he said, and punctuated the single word by slowly sliding into her. They both paused, inhaling deeply and acclimating to the feel of each other. He kissed her, gently at first, then started to move, hitting every sweet spot that could be hit. It was So. Damn. Good. _It shouldn’t be this intense that she was tingling from the base of her back down to her toes_ , she thought hazily. _It shouldn’t make her feel like she losing her goddamn mind from the sweetness._ Sex had always been fun and enjoyable, but this neediness and hunger was rapidly pushing her towards the edge. Ichabod too was affected, as he buried his head in the crook of her neck, for he murmurred constantly, calling her pet names and groaning like he was in serious torment. His breath in her neck tickled, sending more prickles of awareness through her. They were desperately trying to savour the moment, but it was impossible considering how long they had both wanted each other. “Ichabod,” she whispered. He looked up and she stared deep into his eyes.

 

“Yes, love,” he nuzzled her lips with his own.

 

“Fuck me. Hard.” He seemed to swell even larger at that, and she wrapped her legs high around his back to accommodate him going deeper. And faster. They both groaned and Abbie arched her back, not able to do anything more but hold on tight as the orgasm hit her, leaving her helpless and stunned, as Ichabod rode to his completion, half draping himself on top of her afterwards.

 

“Damn,” she breathed out.

 

“Indeed,” was his muffled, tired response.

 

The memories shift again to another favourite (Who was she kidding? Every one of them was her favourite). There was the time he positioned them naked in front of her standing mirror, pale, tall body a contrast to her warm, darker tones, with his reflected head barely fitting into the same space as hers. He made it a point to look her over carefully from head to toe.

  
  
“I’ve noticed Abbie that you enjoy deliberately provoking me.” He placed a large hand on her lower back, while leaning down to whisper close to her ear. “I believe it only fair to return the favour.” Then proceeded to kiss, nibble and lick every inch of her body he could reach. He paid particular attention to her breasts and ass, cupping her breasts and suckling them so strongly she thought she would faint from the pleasure. By the time he had finished, no part of her had gone untouched, her voice was hoarse, and she was so weak-kneed, she’d had to hold on to the wall next to the mirror as a prop. He nodded at the mirror. “Look at how utterly sexy you are. You are a Goddess.”

  
Who was that sex-starved, panting woman in the mirror? She’d enjoyed sex with Luke and other men, but never, ever pleaded and whined like she was going out of her mind. He directed her to the bed, on her hands and knees, ass in the hair waiting on him. After quickly putting on a condom, he gently penetrated her, shallowly at first, then gradually buried himself to the hilt by palming her cheeks with his large hands and opening them up to allow himself more room to slide in. “Oh God!” she gasped and pushed back as far as she could. She loved the way he filled her completely, making her go crazy out of her mind with the need to be taken deep and hard. He pumped his dick in her slowly, slipping in and out easily from her lubrication, hands squeezing and moving her ass cheeks in rhythm to his thrusts. When he put one finger in her mouth, and changed his speed to match the tempo of her sucks, they both moaned. His other hand went to her hip, bracing her against the movement. “Hmmn, you’re so bloody wet and tight,” Crane mumbled. She could feel him trying to withdraw slightly, desperately searching for control.

 

Pity he wouldn’t find it with her.

 

She slowly gyrated her hips, making sure to contract her inner muscles tightly around his dick while simultaneously sucking harder on his finger. He involuntarily spasmed and briefly stopped, before regaining his rhythm. “Mercy, Abbie,” he growled. _Hell no_ , she thought, and widened her mouth to include a second finger, pulling deeply on them while squeezing her inner muscles again. He bucked and ground into her rougher, making a helpless sound. God, yes, she needed him like that, wild and out of control. She contracted again, this time holding the grips a little longer and pulsing steadily with both her mouth and pussy. His other hand moved to her ass, rubbing and caressing the cheek to open it up even wider while he pumped a little faster and deeper.

She could feel her orgasm welling up, wanting to respond to his thrusts, but she ignored it valiantly to focus on him. She wanted to make him lose all sense of control. She slowed, releasing his fingers from her mouth and tapped him on the thigh to get his attention. “Like this.” She went down to her elbows, pushing her ass higher in the air. While he was still inside, she squeezed his dick even more, caressing it with her inner muscles simultaneously grinding on him in short, sweet bursts. She sneaked a hand underneath rubbing her swollen, throbbing clit with broad circles.

 

"Dammit, Abbie.” He was too far gone by now to regain any hope of control and fucked her with rough, choppy movements but she didn’t care because she was coming so hard she shouted out her climax, loud voice reverberating in the space and feeling the after effects long after he had finished.

 

Later, much later, they took a sexy shower together. He pronounced her incapable of reaching all the parts of her body and proceeded to assist in any way possible. “Look at you, doing all the hard work,” she sighed. She was backing him, head against his chest, as he used the pouf to lather her skin. The roughness of the material against her nipples was amazing, the zings reverberating through her body to concentrate on the pulsing nerves below. “You know, there are other parts of my body.” She stretched, reaching a bit on her toes to pull his head down to her neck. He rumbled with laughter. “I am getting there Treasure, never fear.” He nibbled on her neck, carelessly setting aside the pouf as the water rinsed her off, caressing her breasts, one in each hand, as he rolled and squeezed them. “You are perfection.” She moaned as his hands slipped lower, working her over thoroughly with those wonderfully long fingers of his. “You have the sweetest, plumpest lips I have ever felt. God, Abbie, you are amazing. I love to fuck you in your wet, tight walls.” He was grinding and insistent behind her, and she couldn’t believe that she was burning, yet again, to feel him deep inside.

 

“Out of the shower, now,” she gasped out. She flung off the shower cap haphazardly for it to land...somewhere, while he lifted her and hustled to obey her command, even sliding precariously before righting himself. He strode across the bedroom to set Abbie on her feet and retrieve the condom.

 

“Let me.” She took the wrapper from him, and glanced down at him, long and thick, before dropping to her knees in front of him. “My turn.” She swirled him around by the tip first before taking him incrementally further in her mouth, gripping him firmly on both sides of his narrow hips. She felt his hand grab her hair while he moaned, carefully moving in her mouth. She hummed in response and sucked her cheeks around him, causing him to pull on her hair a little, before repeating the move again. His dick felt amazing in her mouth, and she looked at him making sure her expression was as naughty as she could make it. His eyes burned into her, “You are so amazingly good at that.”

 

She slowed for a bit, pulling him out of her mouth while she worked him with her hand. “You’re not half bad yourself.” She licked the tip broadly while sounding her appreciation of his thickness. She slid him back in, listening to him groan loudly, head falling back as he enjoyed her mouth on him.

 

He squeezed her shoulder in warning before pulling out and answered her questioning look, “Too good, Treasure, and I need to taste you.”

 

He positioned himself on the bed so he was half-propped against the headboard, then brought her over in front of him on her knees. He grasped her ass in his hands. “You may want to hold onto something, Lieutenant,” he smirked, before hoisting her up slightly and licking her slowly, sensuously, while her hips helplessly ground against him.

 

“Ohhhhhhhh,” she groaned, one hand on the headboard while the other was buried in his hair. He wasn’t rushing, just savouring her pussy like he was some goddamn connoisseur, rolling his lips and tongue and inhaling her scent like it was the best perfume he’d ever smelled. He used two fingers to open her lips wider and focused on his attention on the little bud begging for attention. When he sensed her climax was approaching, he held off, kissing and nuzzling her belly lightly, waiting until she came back to Earth before going to round two.

 

He kept it simple this time, using broad strokes of his tongue that rapidly brought her back to the edge, before he stopped, this time caressing and squeezing her ass. “Oh shit, umffph” she gasped, so turned on she didn’t even know what she was saying. He started again, this time adding a long finger, which he pumped slowly inside as he licked. She desperately tried to add friction by grinding on it, but he stopped for a while and shot her a smug look, “Now, now, Lieutenant. Good things come to those who wait.”

 

Asshole. She would say it too, if she weren’t so bent out of shape. He resumed again, sucking on her inner lips like he was starving. When two fingers went in, she almost flew off the bed, but he settled her back into position, this time pushing his knees up so she could rest backwards like she was on some kind of buffet table. “Ugh, oh, goddamn.”

 

By the umpteenth cycle she had taken over, pushing his head right back against the board, pulling his hair with desperate hands and riding hard against his tongue, which was lapping her clit to perfection. He gripped her hips, fingers digging into her ass to hold her so securely, she was sure there would be bruises afterwards but she didn’t give a hot damn. “Ichabod! I’m... ahhh” Her climax when it hit felt like it set off a chain reaction of fireworks in her body and Shit!, she felt she was screaming her head off. She must have blanked out for a bit, because when she came to, Crane was caressing her back where she lay on top of him.

 

“Give me a few minutes. Or you could, you know,” she waved vaguely. Her legs were boneless, her throat was dry and she felt as strong as a sponge. He moved, laying next to her and directing her to, “Watch, Lieutenant.” She turned on her side, appreciatively taking in the show as his long fingers massaged his dick and sac. His head on the pillow, eyes closed and vigorous thrusts in the air sparked a fuse in her. She leaned over, running her tongue around the shell of his ear and nuzzling his neck. He groaned deeply and sped up his thrusts. God it was sexy watching him punch the air like that and she started to whisper encouraging remarks in his ear. She’d never really been a talker in bed, but damn if this man wasn’t bringing out a lot of sides to herself she’d never explored before.

 

“Yes, Ichabod, I love your hands, and those long, sexy ass fingers. When you touch me,” she shuddered to a stop, feeling an ache in her breasts. She moved next to him, propped on her knees, alternating between squeezing her breasts and rubbing her nipples. “Look at me,” she said. He turned to see her sultry gaze and playing with herself. “Oh, fuck!” he groaned, ramming his hand even harder with his strokes. “Oh God, Abbie!”

 

She recognised he was close and made sure he kept his gaze on her as she slowly moved her mouth over his dick, hot breath meeting his fingers. “Let me,” she whispered. At her light touch, he exploded, fingers gripping her hair as she licked and sucked, greedily milking him of all he had to give. And damn if she didn’t feel an echo of her own climax humming through her body as he finished roughly in her mouth, shouting her name as he came hard.

 

He hauled her up to kiss her wetly and without any finesse; Abbie gave exactly zero fucks. She answered him back, tasting their combined scents, until he abruptly stopped, panting heavily with his forehead resting on hers. “My God, Abbie.” The moment was interrupted by his stomach, growling loudly in the relative silence. She snorted. “Let’s get something to eat.”

 

The memories finished as they always did, with their last time. Aching and tinged with sadness, they made every caress deliberate and slow. Abbie took the lead, as she kissed him deeply, loving the feel of his tongue sliding around hers. She sat on him, hands entangled in his hair and gyrated slowly on him. They broke the kiss simultaneously, looking at each other. There was so much left unsaid between them that it was making her more sad than she liked.

 

So she did what she did best. Pushed it behind her and moved forward. She tugged him up, shrugging off the small towel he wore, trailing her fingers and mouth over his body. She pushed him back down to sit upright against the headboard and kissed him again, over and over, feverishly taking from his mouth while he caressed her back with gentle fingers. He gasped and pulled back, eyes stormy from his own inner turmoil. “Abbie, I wish…”

 

“Shhh,” she whispered. He was going to say something stupid and it really made no difference now. This was the end, they both knew he was leaving in the morning. But she would be lying if she didn’t feel a bittersweet wave hit her as she rode him gently. The same pulsing emotion driving her was welling up, making her restless and needy, and damn if she didn’t feel like shouting out something (probably something she would regret too) so she kissed him again, while he played her breasts, kneading them gently.

 

God she would miss those fingers.

 

She arched into them, savouring his sweet kisses and the feel of his thumbs gliding over her nipples. He thrust up in her so sweetly she broke off the kiss and moaned, “Yes, Ichabod. Just like that.” He nipped at her neck, still caressing her breasts as she ground on him more urgently. He stared into her eyes, wordlessly seeking the connection with her one last time. She shook her head slightly, looking away, already feeling more vulnerable than she would have liked, but he slowed his movements, holding her head with one hand as the other went to her ass.

 

“Look at me.” He pushed up, simultaneously pulling her to him, drawing a moan from her as her clit grazed him. “Look at me, Abbie.” She didn’t want this, not now, not when he was supposed to be leaving. She shook her head desperately but he was crowding her, pushing into her mind with the same force as he was thrusting into her. “Abbie,” his voice cracked. “Look at me.” She focused on him then, unable to refuse, gasping again as she read the strong emotion glittering in them. Her hands flew up to his face, keeping him in position as she moved harder and faster on him. He let her set the pace, keeping his gaze on her the whole time. “Oh God, I’m coming.” And she closed her eyes, refusing to let him see the sudden groundswell of feeling. He groaned, calling her name brokenly over and over, as he pushed harder to reach his climax shortly afterwards. The silence was deafening as they clung tightly to each other without speaking.

 

He had a contract to attend to in Paris and she had to go back to work and eventually apply to Quantico. They’d never had time for more than a few days anyway. She knew that; she’d been reminding herself constantly. And yet when he got into the taxi that pulled up at the curb, the pang in her chest didn’t abate. It didn’t let up during that week at work, and didn’t ease after she filed the application for Quantico. It lessened during training (there’s only so much thought for a skinny-ass, former British soldier during physical fitness tests) but at night in her room, despite her roommate babbling constantly, it would return unwanted and unasked for, but nevertheless there lingering like a piece of hot lead.

 

She missed him.

 

She scoffed. Missed him; how could she miss someone who was a pain in the ass; who was unbelievably sassy for a white, British dude; who was impatient and impulsive; who was a reckless partner; whom she’d only known for about two months? How could she miss him when he was sexing her so ridiculously good she couldn’t look at him without getting wet; when he followed her train of thought so well it seemed like he was reading her mind; when he was loyal, mindful of her wellbeing and even let her lead in investigations when other men would pull rank? How could she miss someone who made her world brighter?

 

She stilled, breathing deeply. _No. You are not going to be that girl, Abbie Mills_ , she told herself decisively. You have a great life, a dream job, a handful of interested suitors ( _oh God, she was even starting to sound like him_ ). Point was, she was a successful woman who liked men very much thank you, but was not actively looking for one right now, no matter how he made her feel, or how he teased her, or acted haughty, or looked at her. Being at Quantico fulfilled a lifelong dream and she was going to take her shot at finding this patch of happiness for herself.

 


	10. Chapter 10

_Nine months later_

The FBI was a natural fit and here – making order out of the chaos, and shining in a leadership capacity – she truly felt at home. This was another step in her law enforcement career, and some days it was mind-boggling when she thought of her previous years, wasted and high and doing petty crime, to imagine that she had come so far. The counsellor all agents had been mandated to see had told her she should take pride in all her accomplishments and perhaps think of joining the Bureau's volunteer programme for disadvantaged youth.

 

She had blasted through training and graduated top of her class, performing so spectacularly she was pleasantly surprised at a bonus of a huge office while other rookie agents were camping out at desks outside. She had a feeling that little perk was compliments Agent Frater, especially since she was also posted to the FBI branch nearest to Sleepy Hollow. _It was so ironic_ , she mused. Her life in Sleepy Hollow up to now had been one of trying to escape the bad times, and here she was embracing her role, her career in the same place she'd hated for so long.

 

_You've come a long way, baby,_ she thought proudly. _A long way_. Her relationship with Jenny had improved. While still not perfect, they had a standing twice a week coffee date that had helped break a lot of the ice.

 

Yes, life was on the up and up and if she occasionally thought wistfully about what might have been with Mama, Daddy, Corbin and Andy...well, it would never been perfect, but she could say she was now content, though she hadn't totally made peace with Andy's involvement with Moloch. She could and did take a little comfort in the fact that he spared her life as much as he could, even apparently refusing to follow through on the order from Moloch to kill her and Crane. She'd visited him a few times in a federal prison where he'd been jailed for life and – despite awkward, tension-filled encounters – she couldn't help but miss the easy rapport they'd had.

 

And if there were other lingering what-ifs concerning a certain Englishman, well, those she pulled out for a rainy day, knowing it would do no good since he wasn't here. Still...

 

She did have to contend with a bit of awkwardness when Daniel Reynolds came in for a brief consultation on the Nevins case she was working. Nevins had been acquiring rare artefacts from around the world – read stolen – and the Feds had been asked for cooperation by several countries in retrieving religious or cultural pieces. She'd last seen Danny at graduation when he begged her to come with him to Washington to make a career there like he planned to. Abbie couldn't deny it sounded good. Not only did he understand her work ethic, he shared it, with them often competing against each other at the Academy. When they'd made their relationship official, she loved how sexy he made her feel, confident in her abilities as a woman and a professional. She was sorely tempted to say to hell with it all and go with him, but something always seemed to get in the way of them becoming closer and if she was honest with herself, Sleepy Hollow was the main reason. Her roots were there; it was home with its weird mix-match of pain, happiness and hope. She'd even bought a house, the kind of house she'd always fantasised about having years ago in grimy foster homes. More importantly Jenny was there and she wasn't abandoning her sister ever again, not when they were finally talking honestly.

 

And so she told Danny no. And months later he was here, walking in looking sharp (and so fine!), broad shoulders filling out a suit like no other man she knew. "Hello Abs, it's been a long time." Damn, he still did things to her and the old recklessness from her delinquent days flared up, urging her to take up the offer transmitted in those dark brown eyes of reuniting once again. But her reasons hadn't changed, plus Daniel Reynolds was now effectively her boss on this case – a no-no in her book. She turned him down again, genuinely regretful that they couldn't hook up for the brief time he was in Sleepy Hollow.

 

"Damn, Abs, you're gonna give a guy a complex," he joked, but she knew he was more serious than he let on. She smiled over the glass he'd poured in his office, knowing in her heart of hearts she'd made the right call.

 

"I guess it never really was our time, Danny."

 

He sighed. "Yeah, but it was good, wasn't it?"

 

She laughed and put her glass on the desk. "Damn good."

 

That episode had been the only blink on an otherwise uneventful return to Sleepy Hollow. Until one day, the security guard the front desk called her office saying she had a visitor. "Who is it?" she asked distractedly, speedreading a report that had just been handed to her by a field agent.

 

"Says his name is Ichabod Crane." There were a few seconds of absolute shock on her part. She came out of her trance to hear the guard ask her, "Agent Mills, you there?"

 

"Uh, yeah. I'm coming." She hung up slowly, unable to deny she was stunned and blindsided. Heart pounding, she rose and went to the lobby where he was pacing, only stopping when she appeared.

 

"Hey, Crane." He looked amazing in his familiar long jacket and it was as if time had never passed between them. She couldn't stop the bright soft smile from appearing.

 

"Lieutenant," he softly returned, eyes running over her as well. She had cut her hair and he lingered over that change the longest before saying ruefully, "Though I imagine it would be Agent Mills now."

 

Thing is "Lieutenant" with its British inflection was his name for her, no promotion would ever change that. But she said nothing given that she had no idea what he was there for.

 

"What's going on? Has something happened with Moloch?" She couldn't imagine what else would bring him back to Sleepy Hollow.

 

"No. No, that isn't why I've come." He looked nervous and fidgety and the prickly awareness that was always there between them was springing to life. He squared his shoulders and appeared to have made a decision. "I've come because of us."

 

"Us," she parroted blankly, unable to do anything else.

 

"Yes, us." He regarded her carefully. "I thought there were…that is, I had hoped you would…" he closed his eyes and shook his head. He looked as uncomfortable as she'd ever seen him. "I've missed you, Abbie."

 

The nerve of the man. To be doing this, right here in the lobby of the FBI when she was actively working a case, saying he missed her almost a year since she'd last seen him. He was the one who went flying off into the sunset, with no contact whatsoever and only now turning up to tell her he missed her? _She should shut this down_ , she thought helplessly, _turn him away politely, not feel stupidly hopeful and giddy and nervous_. But like an idiot she stood there frozen.

 

"How long are you here for?" She folded her arms and jutted out her jaw, trying to keep grounded. She refused to entertain anything else if he was leaving soon.

 

"What I do for a living, I don't have to be physically present to meet my clients' requests. Once I have my laptop and my satellite connection I could be...anywhere. When I do have to travel, it is often very brief." He was being very deliberate with his speech, eyes roaming her face to pick up on any reaction on her part.

 

"What are you saying?" Her heart was hammering hard and it took all she had to remain impassive.

 

He moved closer to her, staring down intently. "What I mean," he said quietly, "is that **I** want to be with **you**. I can stay here in Sleepy Hollow for an extended period of time, but that would depend entirely on you."

 

She drew a deep, shaky breath, nodding and trying her best to be unaffected. It wasn't working. "What about your wife?"

 

"Katrina?" He asked in confusion. "What about her?"

 

"You voluntarily sat under house arrest with information about Moloch so you could search for the best person to get back her ashes. I don't know," and she didn't hide her sarcasm, "but that doesn't exactly scream that you're over her."

 

He smiled sadly. "I loved my former wife very much, Lieutenant, but guilt drove me to recover her ashes. I often travelled as an intelligence officer and was not there when Katrina met her death. I felt that by losing her ashes I had failed her in death as in life."

 

He sighed. "I swore I would do everything in my power to get her remains back safely. When I returned home, I scattered her ashes in her garden, realising it was time to let her go. I will always love her, but..." he paused and said carefully, "There comes a point when it's time to move on. "

 

There were dozens of persons walking around in the lobby, she thought, and yet they were so attuned to each other it felt as if they were in their own little bubble. She threw out another question, trying not to give in to this damning hope threatening to overwhelm her. "How do you know I'm not with someone?"

 

"I don't." He spread his hands helplessly. "But I've been consumed with thoughts of you since leaving. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't come back to see you in person and see if..." He trailed off, uncertainty flashing over his face. "My best friend Abraham threatened to push me off a cliff if he heard one more thing about this 'Lieutenant Mills', so I decided to fly over and tell you how I feel."

 

"There are things called phones, email, social media," she said softly.

 

Whatever he saw on her face made him confident enough to step even closer, towering over as she looked up, smile playing around his lips. "We work better face to face."

 

Did they ever. It was an active struggle trying to remember why she shouldn't jump his bones in a public lobby, but she barely restrained the impulse even though looking at him, she knew she would be more than welcome to.

 

She took another deep breath before releasing it, suddenly all business. "Okay, here's the thing. We go out on a few dates, see if anything's still there. If you stay in Sleepy Hollow, that's at you, nothing to do with me or a relationship that may or may not happen."

 

He nodded triumphantly, bobbing up and down on his heels from excitement. She wondered how much of that he actually processed beyond "a few dates". Thing was, she couldn't blame him, not with anticipation welling up in her body, her smile failing to be contained.

 

"As you wish, Ms. Mills." He bowed, a deep regal thing like the ones she used to see on TV. She should be weirded out by it, not secretly thrilled and touched. "Okay, okay," she laughed, waving her hand for him to get up, "not here, not now."

 

"No, Ms. Mills. Much later." He raised her hand and kissed it lightly on the back, his voice so low, so deep, so perfect that it pinged every possible sweet spot on her. The brief caress of his lips brought back stirring thoughts of their time together that had never really left her mind _. Damn him, and damn those memories of him_. She exhaled as he walked away; what in the world she was getting herself into she didn't know, but she couldn't deny as she went back to her desk that she was eagerly anticipating it.


	11. Chapter 11

Jenny had taken a shine to Crane, meaning she teased him whenever possible. When they first met, she taunted him with a raised eyebrow, "Ichabod? Do your friends call you Ichy?"

 

"Not if they want to remain my friends." She had laughed at that, saying lightly to Abbie, "I like him."

 

Abbie had walked Jenny out to her jeep, pausing when Jenny said, "I would totally get why you disappear now that Tall Dark and British is back in town."

 

Abbie stood firm, saying as determinedly as she could for Jenny to get the message. "No one or nothing is coming between us again, Jen. I won't let it." She saw the brief flash of emotion in Jenny's eyes and wanted to hug her tightly to show that she was going to keep her promise of always being there. She settled inside for squeezing her hand, and was very relieved when Jenny squeezed back just as tightly.

 

Dating Crane, though, was its own challenge.

 

He was impulsive, annoying, prone to have a (usually) negative opinion on things he didn't understand and was too talkative by far. He should have made her feel like pulling out her hair and there was the odd day or two that she snapped at him until he got the message. And yet, she'd never been able to be with anyone in such relative harmony. He kept things interesting, that was for sure. He had a way of harping on topics until she got him to change his mind by appealing to his sense of fair play and usually by giving him another angle from which to consider things. Normally that meant being patient, going through lengthy conversations and dialogues, but if he was being too prissy and she was not up to talking, she liked to take him down a few pegs.

 

Right now that meant doing a teasing dance to Rihanna's "Rude Boy", while he sat on the spare chair in her bedroom, legs crossed, fingers stroking his beard and moustache, focusing a hungry, blue stare on her. They had been discussing burlesque and his pronouncement that there was no appropriate modern music to properly accompany the artform. She had refused to let him get away with that, cocking an eyebrow at him in mimicry, and saying she was looking forward to him eating his words on one condition.

 

"Hands to yourself, Crane. You can look but you can't touch." Her eyes twinkled as she teased him. They had not slept together since beginning to date for two months now. It seemed he was content to let her set the pace and she was finding it sweet to be properly courted by fresh flowers, picnics in the forest, dinner dates and lazy motorcycle rides that ended with drugging kisses and cuddles in his apartment. Not that she didn't want to screw his brains out, but she was enjoying the special care and he was happy to do things just to make _her_ happy and cherished. That always brought an extra glow that encouraged Jenny's mischievous remarks.

 

"Ms. Mills, I'll have you know that I was once a soldier in Her Majesty's army. I can most certainly control myself and counteract your bounteous charms," he said in faux outrage.

 

She mulled over the thought in her head. "I don't think you can keep your hands to yourself that easily."

 

"Ah, is that a note of challenge? Do you want to turn it into a wager, Ms. Mills?" he smirked.

 

"Deal." They even shook on it, though the sneak tried to pull her close to him. "Uh uh, Crane. I'm in charge here."

 

"Yes, Lieutenant. I am ever yours to command." The arched eyebrow and hot look almost had her deciding against going through with her scheme. Almost.

 

"You owe me, Captain." His eyes darkened at the appellation. She made a note of it.

 

It had been a while since she had done anything like this, but it was coming back to her. She kept it simple, removing her jacket, top and jeans teasingly to parade around the room in a sheer camisole, lacy boyshorts that showed half her ass, and bright red heels specially for the occasion. His gaze though…her nipples had hardened long before actually reaching this stage, but with him looking at her like that, she wanted to put a little extra spice into things, so she made sure to rub her hands seductively over her body, concentrating on her breasts and wet pussy. The lick of his lips as her fingers swiped across her pussy, briefly dipping in to test the wetness there almost inspired her to shove it in his face and command him to eat her out. Almost. By the time the song ended and skipped to the next in rotation, she was tired of waiting. She sashayed over to him, taking her time, watching his predatory look. She leaned over, straddling a very hard dick she noted happily and linked her hands lightly around his neck.

 

"See something you like, Captain?" Her husky voice drifted across him, causing a thrill to run through his body that echoed in her own, skin lightly pebbling from the awareness between them.

 

He ran his gaze across her chest, sending a blaze of heat across her. He couldn't touch her, but then he didn't have to with a searing brand that was almost physical. "I could show you but someone forbade me from touching, apparently."

 

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Is that so?" Good thing she planned a sexy lap dance for him. "You might want to hold on to something Captain, we've barely gotten started."

 

She directed him to take off his jeans (nothing killed a mood more than grinding up on hard denim) and sit back down. She smirked at his dick tenting in the boxers, "Is all that for me?" The damp patch near the head told its own story; he was already well turned on. She could read the strain in his features as he attempted to keep himself under control; she almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

 

By the time she was finished with him, he wouldn't even be able to remember his own name.

 

Abbie sat on him with her back turned, making sure he could easily see her cheeks hanging out of the boyshorts and started to grind on him slowly. She heard him groan and felt his dick jerk involuntarily in response to her movements. She smiled widely. _Good_.

 

The song was an old Beyonce fave and as "Drunk in Love" softly wafted over them, she moved even more sensuously, leaning over to touch the floor as his dick lightly grazed her clit through the fabric. This time both of them moaned. She turned her head to the side to see his hands gripping the chair handles tightly, corded veins bulging through the skin showing how much he was resisting the urge to thrust up. She had to slow down herself because this was feeling way too good and she had much more in plan.

 

She got off and stood facing him, looking at his half-lidded eyes which smoldered at her, watching her every move. _Well, that certainly shut up him_ , she thought in satisfaction. She lightly caressed her nipples through the camisole, panting heavily when his darkened eyes followed her fingers. God she could almost feel his tongue there, remembering just how capable he was of bringing her off just with that masterful mouth of his. She discarded the camisole top hastily, pushing her breasts in both hands and swirling her thumbs around peaked nipples. "Abbie," his voice rumbled through her, hitting the peaks before running to the pool of wetness between her legs.

 

She let her hands drift down teasingly to the edge of her panties. His eyes followed them helplessly, swallowing hard when she made as if to take down the material. "Just kidding," she flashed a smile. He huffed a breathless "Lieutenant, please" in her direction.

 

"Ready to give in yet?" she asked sultrily. He shook his head no, unable to look her in the eyes as he stared hungrily at her body.

 

Onto phase two then. She eased onto his lap, hearing his sharp inhalation, then leaned her breasts in his face as she made a slight adjustment below by pulling the material away from her pussy to the side. Opening her legs as far as the fabric would allow, she sat directly on the wet patch made by his dick and whispered, "Watch and feel." Holding onto his shoulder with her other hand, she leaned her head back, slowly grinding on him below. He went absolutely rigid, panting under the strain of his control. He couldn't hold back the moan. "Abbie, I...ohhhh." The outline of his dick was hitting her directly on her clit and she wanted to rub herself on him even more, chasing the ultimate pleasure for them both. Fuck, even through the fabric he felt so amazing, she couldn't help but remember their other times together, thick dick pulsing through her so good she hadn't been able to stop screaming. She nibbled on her lip. _Damn girl, slow down._ If she kept up those thoughts _she_ would be the one coming all over both of them. She slowed, leaning back up and lightly traced the outline of his lips with her own. She could feel him literally shaking underneath her when she changed the movement, going backwards and forwards to create even more friction on his head.

 

"How about now?" she whispered, pausing to look at him.

 

He huffed for breath, saying gruffly, "Not yet." But he wasn't far from, involuntarily resting his forehead on hers before sighing shakily. "Though I'm sure this is not what we originally discussed; this has transcended burlesque."

 

She was pleasantly surprised. She thought for sure he would have surrendered by now, but here he was, articulate enough to debate the finer points of a strip routine. Time to get a little sluttier.

 

She leaned back, folding her arms atop her head, which caused her pert nipples to become even more direct. Crane's head was bent as if in silent prayer, staring at them as if he wanted to devour them. She arched her back even higher, angling her breasts towards his mouth and lightly swayed from side to side managing to hit between his bottom lip and chin. Jesus, the tingles from that were spreading straight to her pussy and down to her toes. She bit her own lip, trying to restrain her own moans and settling instead for heavy sighs. She clenched her core muscles – thank you, yoga – and was able to grind ever so slowly on the swollen dick below her. Through lidded eyes she could see Crane close his, trying to shift his body every so slightly back to avoid her breasts; she chased him until he had nowhere to go and felt the shudder ripple through his body. His dick involuntarily spasmed and she lifted her ass a little to bring it back down, mimicking riding him. He stiffened and pushed up again, this time more deliberately. She groaned hard and dropped back down a little rougher. This time he lifted his hands from the chair, gripped her back, and growled, "I yield."

 

He kissed her roughly, desperately drinking from her as he caressed her back with urgent strokes. She responded just as fervently, wrapping her arms around his neck and grinding a bit faster. He broke off the kiss, breathing roughly, chest rising and falling rapidly from his exertions.

 

"I fear if we continue, it will be too much for me to resist, Treasure." He kissed her cheek quickly, preparing to get up, but halted when she pulled on his shirt.

 

"Who said anything about stopping?"

 

He looked carefully at her. "You're sure, Abbie?"

 

"Yes." And she was, completely. Yeah, their test results were clean and she was on birth control again, but she hadn't felt so comfortable or thoroughly taken care of – ever – by anyone. It was the right time, for her, for them and it was time to make it official.

 

He hoisted her up, kissing her deeply while she wrapped her legs around him. "Ummff, take off your clothes," she ordered him. They had to get creative because he refused to let her go, saying he had been deprived of touching for too long, but between their combined efforts they managed to divest him of his clothing, though she stopped him from removing her panty. "Leave it on."

 

He put her on the bed, lightly rubbing the wet fabric before pushing it to a side and inserting one long finger, then another in quick succession. She spread her legs as far as she could, feeling the panty ride up into her crack, but he moved it out of the way so one cheek was completely exposed. He lightly nipped on the bare outer lip, setting her juices flowing again. As she had hoped, he was quite taken with the total wax she'd had done at the spa in the hopes they would get to this stage sooner rather than later.

 

"Where do I begin, Abbie?" he rumbled between nips. He licked the entire outer pussy that was uncovered, delving in with his tongue to slowly lap the juice accumulating there. She groaned, moving her hands around in his hair, tugging impatiently for him to get on with it.

 

He got the message, diving in enthusiastically,and covering so much that she was ready to come in seconds. "Argh, god...fuck Ichabod!" She ground frantically on him, yelling her release shortly thereafter. He gave her little time to recover, sitting her on the bed and slamming her down on him, using those strong forearms to lift her up and down repeatedly onto him before they climaxed.

 

"So what's your opinion on modern music now?" she asked, curling up next to him while trying to recover her breath.

 

He screwed his face in mock concentration. "I fear I may have missed some crucial aspects of your demonstration. Perhaps we should have this session again – several times – until I'm able to come up with a better answer."


	12. Chapter 12

In six months of settling in Sleepy Hollow, Ichabod had joined several groups and made some friends. One of his interests was history and the early colonial period of America. He was taken by the idea of the birth of a nation forged under the reign of the King of England, and turned into the powerhouse it was today. He was fascinated by the exploits of Thomas Jefferson and George Washington and tried to regale her with tales about them. She would look at him, unimpressed. "Tell that to the millions who were enslaved, killed and had their lands stolen." That usually made him uncomfortable and stutter, "Well, obviously not those parts." She would roll her eyes, uninterested in rich, white colonial men who preached for the rights of humans but then turned around and enslaved other humans, while justifying them as three-fifths of a person.

 

He was a big hit among a group of reenactors, with his noble profile and British accent, and it wasn't long before several women in the group were more than a little interested. She could see that he was flattered and Abbie shrugged it off, not too bothered by it. He was a handsome, charming man, had a panty-dropping voice and an eye-opening dickprint; he was always going to get more than just passing attention. Most of the women respected the obvious boundaries in place once they knew he was involved. A few of them even made a point of trying to befriend her despite her lack of interest in reenactments.

 

Except Zoe Corinth.

 

A member of the Historical Society, she had initially asked to meet with both of them because she was interested in appealing to the public for the restoration of Frederick's manor and the old Armory. She wanted to recount the story of Purgatory and do tours of both buildings as part of a marketing campaign to whet the public's interest. Personally, Abbie thought that remodelling former places of ill repute, like slave holding cells in Nigeria, did no one any good. She waved off the meeting and told Crane he could attend if he wanted. Interest piqued (and really just wanting to look good in front of more people) he met with Zoe and it quickly became apparent that she was very taken by Crane judging from her numerous calls and messages.

 

At first it was fine, cute even. "Aw, little Zoe has a crush on you, Crane," Abbie started teasing him. He'd waggled his fingers in discomfort and said he couldn't control what others thought. "That's because you have serious game."

 

"The only person I want to 'game' with is you, Lieutenant."

 

She'd laughed. "That's not how you use it."

 

"Oh, sod it." And he had pulled her down on his lap to give a very delectable demonstration of his skills.

 

But soon Abbie stopped laughing – seriously, didn't the woman have anything else to do? – and very quickly became downright annoyed.

 

One day, his phone kept chiming. And chiming. It sounded when they were together at the farmer's mart, it pinged on the drive home, and during unloading the groceries from her jeep. By the 30th alert (not that she was counting or anything) Abbie glared at it, then at Crane. "You need to do something about her."

 

"She is corresponding with me on the use of legalese in constitutional documents," Crane protested.

 

"No, she's telling you her pussy is available anytime you want it," Abbie returned flatly.

 

"Abbie," he frowned. "That's crude."

 

"It's the truth, Crane, think about it." She looked at him in frustration. "She's constantly messaging you, every day, about silly things she could easily find out on her own. She's trying the damsel in distress move, real slick too, by appealing to your knight complex."

 

"I do not have a knight complex," he muttered. She ignored him. "But Lieutenant, even if that were true, you took no issue with Caroline. You laughed it off and said she had a case of 'Crane on the brain'."

 

She scowled at him. "I like Caroline. Besides she was gracious enough to back off when she realised I was in the picture. Historical Society Barbie is pretending that I don't exist. When you told her Saturday that we were on a date, what did she say?"

 

He looked sheepish. "She asked if I could come over afterwards to discuss a calligraphy font to use on invitations. You're right, Lieutenant. I...hadn't realised her regard was so strong." The nasty look Abbie gave him made him reconsider. "Well, perhaps I was accustomed to overlooking it. I will speak to her in the morning about the matter."

 

"You can start," she said testily, "by turning off your damn phone."

 

"Consider it done." He slid his phone on the counter and came up to her, staring. She paid no attention to him and continued to unpack the groceries but the fucker was deliberately trying to get under her skin. It was not working. That much.

 

She gave him severe sideeye and said sharply, eyebrows raised with more than a hint of sass. "What?"

 

"'Historical Society Barbie'?" She turned away with a shrug.

 

He grinned. "Hmmm. I much prefer playing with FBI Agent Barbie. Despite her woefully short stature," she glared at him in warning, "she is amazingly sexy, beautiful and generous of heart." _Damn him and his damn words. If he thought that was going to work..._ He leaned in further. "Tell me, Lieutenant, does this model come with a gun too?"

 

She said nothing, biting her lips to prevent any reaction.

 

"And does she have a little FBI badge?"

 

"Shut up," she said exasperatedly.

 

"And does she chase 'perps' and arrest them with her handcuffs?"

 

"Okay, okay, stop!" She laughed helplessly. "You win."

 

"Oh, I do win, Lieutenant." He wrapped her in his arms and heaved her up on the countertop, nipping her lips and exploring her mouth thoroughly. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and felt her body spring to life, as it often did with him. "I am fortuitously blessed with the 'real deal'." She heard him emphasise the slang as he was usually did when he wanted to make her laugh. She shook her head, smiling fondly.

 

"Although I do think we should find some method of warding off these gaggles of women after me," he said mischievously.

 

She snorted. "Please. Two thirsty chicks does not a crowd make. Don't let your ego get ahead of itself."

 

"What about a stamp with the words 'Property of Grace Abigail Mills'?"

 

"Ha! Where we gonna put it? On that big forehead of yours?" she laughed.

 

"Sew it onto my shirts, perhaps?" He teased.

 

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, Crane, let's make it real obvious like the Scarlet Letter."

 

"Maybe something smaller then, like a ring." he blurted, suddenly serious.

 

She froze. _Oh. Shit._ He did not just say what she thought he had. She pulled fully out of the embrace, smile disappearing and completely speechless. He was nervous but adamant, cold fingers holding hers tightly; he really did mean it. _Oh. Shit. This was not happening._

 

"This isn't the perfect setting, surrounded by groceries in the middle of a kitchen after a tiff. I hadn't planned this; I don't even have a ring," he said softly. "But I am hopelessly, madly, head over heels in love with you, Abbie. You are a rarity, a beautiful woman inside and out who loves deeply. You make me strive to be better than the last day, be better for you. I feel truly honoured to know you." He didn't hide the mist gathering in his eyes. She felt an answering sting in hers and swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to dispel it. "I would gladly spend the rest of my life in your presence, Treasure. Marry me," he said hoarsely, kissing her hands.

 

Her breathing was shallow and she couldn't stop it if she tried. She stared at him, stuck and unable to say anything. He couldn't just level a nuclear bomb explosion like that in her life! In the end, only one thought rose up above the others running around her head. She looked at him despairingly. "I can't, I'm sorry." And ran from the kitchen as fast as she could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, Historical Society Barbie is not my creation. I saw it on Twitter and absolutely loved the shade! On another note, thank you so much for your continued support of this story. I think I have about two more chapters left in this!


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